Pistol Packin' Mama
by CESmith372
Summary: Addison Howard has been many things in her lifetime: homemaker, artist, lawyer, mother. Adding pistol packing Vault Dweller to that list was never a part of the plan. Though, neither was falling for a man who spends most of his time occupying a massive suit of metal armor. If Addison can learn to love again, then surely she can learn to survive in the Wasteland.
1. Chapter 1

To most people of the Commonwealth, Addison's Pip-Boy looked like a heavy piece of junk. It chafed her skin, wore away the fabric of her jumpsuit, and was just a general pain in the ass.

Her mother would have hated that kind of language, if she were alive to hear it. Though, no one from Addison's former life was living. Not even the world she inhabited now felt alive anymore.

She kept the Pip-Boy despite its nuisance. The radio function was useful, and it could play holotapes. Maybe she also kept it because it was a vestige of her former life. Pip-Boys had been cutting-edge pieces of technology 200 years ago. Now, it was an antique, like all the other things she collected and got odd looks for hoarding around.

"Hey, Blue, your thing is beeping."

Addie jumped at the voice, hand flying to her belt and curling around her pistol. She was jumpy to say the least since leaving the Vault. She'd learned her lesson about being vigilant in the Commonwealth very, _very_ quickly. Though not particularly well, seeing as she had _zero_ experience with combat. Not like Nate.

She lifted her arm to look at the Pip-Boy's screen. "Another radio frequency," she said, as she stopped on the cracked asphalt of the road they were on. The highway loomed high above their heads, decrepit and blocking the late afternoon sun from their view.

Addison fiddled with the dial until the fuzzy radio silence transformed into a voice broadcasting through the small speaker.

 _"_ _Automated message repeating: This is Scribe Haylen of reconnaissance squad Gladius to any unit in transmission range. Our unit has sustained casualties and we're running low on supplies. We're requesting support or evac from our position at the Cambridge Police Station."_

The message began to repeat again, and Addison clicked off the station. "The Cambridge Police Station is nearby," she remarked.

"How do you know that?" Piper asked.

"I went to school in Cambridge," she said, then lowered her arm. "It sounded as if those people were in trouble."

"It's the Commonwealth," she replied with a wave of her gloved hand. "Someone is _always_ in trouble."

"They didn't sound like normal people, though. Almost like they were in the military." Addison furrowed her brow. "I think she said something about being a Scribe?"

Piper rustled through her bag and pulled out a single cigarette. "I bet she's Brotherhood," she said, voice warped as she put it in her mouth while she searched for her lighter.

"Which is….?"

Piper looked surprised for a moment before she nodded. "Right, right. You were a popsicle in the Vault." She took a long drag before positioning the cigarette between two fingers to speak. "The Brotherhood of Steel are these para-military weirdos who _really_ hate the Institute. And synths. And feral ghouls. Super mutants. Anyone who's not a human, really."

"I haven't seen them around," Addison said. Though that statement likely didn't mean much because since leaving the Vault, she'd been between Sanctuary and Diamond City, and that's all.

"The Brotherhood only hangs out around the Capital Wasteland," Piper said with her hip jutted out slightly. "I don't know what they're doing here."

Addie looked back at her Pip-Boy. "Are you saying there likely aren't other teams around to evac this Gladius group?"

Piper blew out a column of smoke into the sky before her eyes settled back on her.

"You're thinking of helping, aren't you?"

"Maybe. It sounds dangerous," Addie said. "You up for it?"

Piper gave a crooked smile and flicked the tiny stub of her cigarette away. "Of course. Lead the way, Blue."

Addison nodded her head once in reply and then began trekking back up the road towards Cambridge. Or where she thought Cambridge was. She had lived in Boston her entire life—almost 29 years—but all that remained of her home was a dilapidated facsimile of it. Who knew what could have happened over the past 200 years to make this place utterly impossible to navigate?

She checked the ammo in her 10mm as they waked. A decent amount of bullets remained in her pack, but it was never enough.

Maybe Addie wanted Piper to think it was altruism that made her decide to help this trapped team of soldiers. The harsher truth was that if this was a well-furnished military group, then they would have ammo. Weapons. Something more than just the small pistols she and Piper carried around to protect themselves in this terrifying place.

After a few minutes of walking, they arrived at what remained of the town of Cambridge. Everything in the Commonwealth looked unsettlingly similar because of the destruction. The same thin sheet of dust, the same piles of re-bar and brick, the same rusty and blasted out cars.

They heard the pop of gunfire from further into town.

"Definitely sounds like somebody's in trouble," Piper remarked as she took out her pistol.

Addison crouched down. It was a reflex now to her. In her vault suit and with one measly weapon, she did whatever she could to hide and not make herself a target. Still, she was inelegant in her sneaking, and her boots crunched the gravel underneath her.

The sounds of gunfire were joined by the screeches of feral ghouls. Addison rounded a corner and spotted the police station. Or at least where she remembered it was. The place was fortified with a sloppy metal barricade and barbed wire.

Two ferals were directly in front of them—skin wrinkled and sapped of any indication that they were once human beings. They limped forward with their gangly arms while Addison raised her pistol.

She fired two shots—two _terrible_ shots. One buried itself into the metal wall beside the ferals, and the other bullet clipped an arm. Fear turned her blood ice cold, and her accuracy only decreased as she panicked and emptied her clip.

Piper jumped up behind her—the bullets she fired killed the ghouls, hitting one in the chest, and the other in the head, sending a sheet of blood and brain matter across the ground.

They both rushed forward as a voice rang out from in front of the police station.

"Civilians in the perimeter! Check your fire!"

Addison fired in the direction of some other ferals attempting to climb over the barricade before she spotted three soldiers on the platform in front of the door.

One of them was wearing a massive suit of power armor. _Power armor_. Addie was elated for a moment as she always was when reminders of her former life presented themselves. Nate had never worn that stuff in his line of work, but power armor was a staple of the US military, especially after riots broke out and the situation around Boston became increasingly unstable. Tanks, missile launchers, and soldiers in power armor were a common sight in those final days.

This Brotherhood had clearly co-opted the suits for their own purposes. It certainly looked like a useful piece of armor against the terrors of the Commonwealth.

Addison was not paying enough attention—as usual—and did not notice the feral sprinting towards her. She fired from the hip, but only hit the monster's shoulder. Rather than attack her, though, a hot beam of red light streamed past her and disintegrated the ghoul into a glowing pile of ash. It reminded her of Preston's weapon, but more powerful.

Addison crouched behind a pillar and peered around it to fire her remaining bullets. A few ferals went down because of her work, until the sound of their growls had completely disappeared.

"We're clear," the man in the power armor said. Then he turned to them and pulled the massive helmet off his head. His dark eyes were on her immediately, and she stood straight from her hiding place.

"We appreciate the assistance, civilian," he said in a clipped tone. "What's your business here?"

Addison circled the barricade as Piper walked up to join her. "Who are you?"

He frowned slightly. "If you want to remain in our compound, I suggest you answer my question first."

She tucked her pistol into her belt. "Does it matter where I'm from? I helped you with those ghouls."

He huffed. "You make a fair point, but this would be much easier for both of us if you'd just cooperate."

"Alright," she began. "My name is Addison Howard. I'm from Vault 111." She gestured behind her. "This is Piper. We were on our way to Diamond City when we heard your radio message."

His prominent brow rose. "You're a Vault Dweller? Most people wouldn't admit to such a thing."

Addison glanced down. "I wear the suit, so it's not really something I can lie about just yet."

Piper crossed her arms. "Are you gonna tell us who you are?"

"Very well," he said. "I'm Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. Over there is Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys."

Addison waved to the two figures leaning against the wall next to the door of the police station. "It's nice to meet you all," she said with a smile, and Piper made a soft noise between a groan and a laugh.

Piper apparently found it very entertaining that Addison was so polite. The culture in the Commonwealth was…rougher than what Addison was used to. People were not trusting; they were more aggressive, and the concept of chivalry had been destroyed probably just as soon the bombs fell.

Addison wasn't used to that—she was raised as a socialite, a demure suburban mother that was always supposed to smile and accompany her words with _please_ and _thank you_.

Paladin Danse was understandably confused by her politeness, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "It's…?" He shook his head. "We were on recon duty here, and our supplies are running low. I've been trying to send a distress call to my superiors, but the signal is too weak to reach them."

The woman behind Danse lifted her head. "Sir, if I may?"

Danse turned, his giant armored feet clopping against the ground. "Proceed, Haylen."

She stood straighter as she spoke. "I've modified the radio tower on the roof of the police station, but I'm afraid it's not enough. We need something that will boost the signal."

He frowned again. "If we don't reach them, we're in serious trouble."

Addison pushed her auburn hair back from here it had fallen in disarray from their fight. "If you're looking for good tech, you should search the ArcJet Systems facility further north," she said. "Piper and I passed it earlier. Before the war, ArcJet produced rockets and some other electronics that probably required the use of transmitters with decent range."

"How did you know that?" Danse asked, tone harder. "Are you a scientist?"

"Paranoid much?" Piper said under her breath.

Addison froze and wrapped her hands together behind her back. She was positively _not_ lying by telling him she was not a scientist. "I…was related to some," she replied carefully. "That's all."

He let the matter go, to her relief. "That sounds like a promising lead," he said. "We will infiltrate the facility and look for any transmission equipment that could be of use to Scribe Haylen."

She cocked an eyebrow. "We?"

Danse looked back towards the door. "Knight Rhys is injured, and Scribe Haylen needs to remain here to tend to him." He then met her gaze. "You're not my ideal choice, but I'd like your help."

Piper let out a sharp laugh. "Tip for future recruitment," she said. "Try not to start any of your sentences with _you're not my ideal choice_."

"She's a Vault Dweller," Danse replied evenly. "I was merely making a statement of fact."

"It's alright," Addison interjected. "I understand."

He gestured impatiently. "So what do you say? Will you help the Brotherhood of Steel?"

"Who are the Brotherhood of Steel, exactly?" she asked.

Danse immediately had a somehow _prouder_ air about him. "Our order seeks to understand the nature of technology. It's power. It's meaning to us as humans. And we fight to secure that power from those who would abuse it."

Addison cocked her head because what he said meant essentially nothing to her—it was philosophical nonsense as opposed to any concrete information on what the Brotherhood actually _did_. Still, it would be impolite to point that out, so Addie merely nodded.

"I don't have any men to spare, and I can't go looking for tech on my own," Danse said. "Will you help?"

Addison didn't think long. She saw his weapon, their stacks of ammo—who knew what was inside that police station?

"You've got a deal," she said, then she turned to Piper.

"I'm with you, Blue," Piper remarked, and she smiled slightly in reply.

"That's sweet, but you know that I need you back in Diamond City. Now that we rescued Nick, he can get to work on my case, and you can help him."

Piper made a noncommittal sound before she eyed Danse more closely. "I suppose you're right. It looks like that tin can will do a good job of protecting you, at least." She paused and raised a dark brow. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I am," Addie replied, even as her stomach did a nervous flip.

Piper tipped her hat. "Alright, Blue. You stay safe out there. I'll see you in Diamond City. We'll have information for you when you get back. I promise."

"Thank you, Piper," Addison said, as she watched the reporter holster her pistol and head back past the barricades. There was still some light out, so she'd make good time back to Diamond City.

Addison turned to Danse, and he gave her the once down with a critical look. No, she did not look like a soldier. Average height, no muscle to speak of, and she was certainly lacking in the general toughness that most people who lived in the Commonwealth had.

"All right, civilian," he finally said. "It's time to prove your worth."

Ignoring his condescension, Addie gestured to her pistol. "Do you have any ammo?"

"You can go inside and load up, but hurry," he said. "I want to get moving while it's light out."

Addison nodded to him and began climbing the stairs. The woman—Haylen—smiled slightly at her, but the younger man beside her only glared, like most military types.

Just outside the door, she wondered briefly if it was dangerous to agree to a mission like this. She'd helped Preston protect settlements, rescued Nick from some violent gangsters, and now she was helping this Brotherhood organization find tech so that they could call more of their comrades. Sure, she always got rewards for this type of work, but if she kept risking her life…well, something would go wrong eventually.

A small part of her liked helping people, being kind in a way the world just wasn't anymore, but she knew deep down that she did these things to reach her main goal more quickly: finding Shaun.


	2. Chapter 2

The civilian was quiet almost the entire way to the ArcJet Systems complex. She merely traversed beside Danse on their path while he tried to explain more about their recon work in the Commonwealth.

He looked over at her once and noticed her clutching her pistol tightly. Danse knew what fear in battle looked like, and he saw it in her eyes and in the sweat on her brow. She was from a Vault, so that did not surprise him.

This woman did not look battle-hardened in the least. Other than some barely visible bruising on her nose, her skin was smooth, and she was built very differently from people in the Commonwealth who lived on scraps of food and radioactive cans from before the war.

It made Danse wonder just how recently she had emerged from the Vault. Days, weeks, months? She seemed to have _some_ competency with her weapon, though not a lot.

He could ask her, he supposed, but there was a mission at hand.

"If we take this road, we should be able to avoid the packs of ferals infesting Cambridge," he said, as he gestured with his laser rifle down the broken pavement road in front of them. "Try not to lag behind."

She quickened her pace beside him to keep up with his longer stride. "Have you had a lot of problems with ferals in this area?" she asked, then threw a nervous glance behind her.

Danse muffled his sigh. "Our mission here has been difficult. Since we arrived in the Commonwealth, we have been constantly under fire."

"I've had that problem too," she muttered under her breath.

"We lost four good men to this godforsaken wasteland," Danse said. "We've been a target from the moment we arrived. Despite our setbacks, I don't intend to give up and head home or go missing."

He heard her stop and look up at him. She was not tall, or short really, so she had to crane her neck slightly to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry about your soldiers. I know that must be difficult to deal with."

Danse only narrowed his eyes initially in response because this woman had no motivation to express such sympathy for him. Why exactly did she feel the need to be so damn _polite_? People in the Commonwealth simply didn't act that way anymore, and it was unsettling.

Before he could question her about her suspicious behavior, he heard the rustle of metal beside them as a feral scrambled from the floor to its feet.

Addison immediately fired her weapon, and he raised his rife as he moved in front of her. To her credit, she did kill the one feral she'd targeted while he disposed of three others.

He dutifully checked the perimeter for further signs of hostiles, and finding none, he began to march forward again. Addison scurried after him while he looked past the highway at the sky. "It will be dark soon. We need to keep moving."

Danse's visibility in his power armor was always limited when it came to objects directly beside him, but he heard the click of her pistol as she reloaded it.

"You should not be so wasteful with your ammo," he remarked.

She did not say anything at first. "I know," she eventually admitted.

"If you're going to spray bullets, you need a different weapon," he said.

"I had a mini-gun once," she said. "But it was heavy, and I wanted to leave it at the settlement to defend against raiders."

They'd reached the top of the hill, and Danse could see a facility surrounded by a chain-link fence. He did not notice any outside security.

"That's it," Addison said. "I'm sure we will find what you need there. ArcJet Systems was building some sort of rocket before the war. A big one. It would have some pretty powerful transmission equipment, if it hasn't already been salvaged."

"Perhaps we'll have one shred of luck since coming to the Commonwealth," Danse replied. "Because we certainly haven't before this point." He checked his laser rife. "We'll enter through the front. Stay behind me. Facilities like this are often infested with ferals. Or worse, we'll run into synths."

As they got closer, Danse saw that the building was mostly intact on the outside—rusty, like most things in the Commonwealth, and covered in hanging moss. They walked to the door underneath the bright blue and red ArcJet sign, and Danse shoved open the door. It shuddered on its hinges before creaking open.

Danse ignored the destruction before them, though Addison seemed more entranced by it. Broken stairwells, papers and dust coating the ground—it was a beat-up reception area like many others he'd seen on his recon sweeps for the Brotherhood. He frowned slightly.

"It was corporations like these that put the last nail in the coffin of mankind," he said, and his voice echoed through the empty space. "They exploited technology for their own gains, pocketing the cash and ignoring the damage they'd done. General Atomics International. Clayton Industries. Robco."

She stepped over a pile of metal debris. "You can't complain about those companies without acknowledging that they're the only reason your power armor functions properly."

Danse turned on his heel to her. "And look at the catastrophic cost of their advancements. I'd gladly trade this armor to have put an end to their reign before the war. I just wasn't born soon enough."

He could not see her expression in the shadowy room, only the thin line of her mouth and the stubborn set of her jaw. Light filtered through the open spaces from the roof, but the sun was slowly setting around them.

"The lab should be this way," she said, then slipped past him into a room further back and to the left.

Danse followed her, his heavy footsteps echoing up the walls, louder because he was crushing metal debris under him. He stopped when he saw a room beside them that was barely lit. The floor was littered with parts from Protectrons.

"It appears as though the facility's automated security has already been dealt with," he said. "We should be careful. We're probably not alone."

"Who do you think did this?" she asked, brows knit low over her eyes.

He stepped further into the room. "I don't see any ammunition casings or blood." He tightened his grip on his rifle. "This is the Institute's handiwork. Synths. Be on alert, civilian."

"I already was," she replied. She stepped aside to let him march down the hall in front of her. Before delving deeper into the lab, Danse considered all his tactical options, one of which was leaving. He had not expected synths to be present. They were more dangerous than ferals, and this civilian seemed unequipped to handle them. Perhaps he could wait for more help to come along, or Haylen could find another way to boost their radio signal?

Those were not viable options. They were far too pressed for time and low on supplies to wait. This Addison Howard would have to do as his extra gun. For the time being.

* * *

Addison thought it was best not to tell Danse that she had never fought a synth before. Or seen a hostile one. The way he crinkled his nose at her technique told her that he was already not too happy with his choice to take her along to ArcJet.

Still, she was at least _some_ help with the synths they encountered before the engine core room. She'd found a way past a few locked doors when his only suggestion was to break them down. However, he provided most of the fire support after that because around every corner there seemed to be synths just waiting to shoot at them.

They looked nothing like Nick. Retained no humanity like he did. They were metal skeletons with eyes and oddly mechanical voices. Addie began to understand why everyone in Diamond City feared them so much.

When they reached the engine core room, the power was out, but ArcJet's project from before the war was still visible: a massive rocket, half built. Addison craned her neck up.

"The transmitter is probably in the control room at the top."

Danse looked beside him at the elevator. "Power's out. We'll need to go down to see if we can restore it."

Addison began descending the metal steps leading to the ground. "There should be a maintenance area with backup power."

His footsteps made the balcony underneath them shake. "Find it quickly," he ordered. "I'll watch your back."

She only nodded to him, but did in fact find comfort in knowing someone with that much firepower was keeping an eye on her. He seemed trustworthy enough, despite his apparent predilection for spouting facts about the Brotherhood. Addison smiled politely at his efforts, as she was trained to do.

There was a terminal connected to the auxiliary power generator in the back. Addison accessed it and managed to break the code, despite the fact that she kept glancing over her shoulder, worried at the excessive silence from outside the window.

As soon as the power was restored, she heard footsteps clacking against the metal stairway, and then the sharp sound of laser rounds being fired. Addison rushed out into the main maintenance room and saw bright flashes of blue, interspersed with the red of Danse's rifle.

There were five, ten, then fifteen synths firing down at him. Addison gave a panicked gasp before her throat closed from the terror. She reached the cracked window over the control panel that allowed her to see where the rocket was.

"Danse!"

She scrambled for her pistol, but it slipped from her hands onto the mainframe in front of her. It clattered against some buttons, and she heard a voice echo through the chamber.

"Command accepted. Commencing five second countdown."

Addison jerked back, trying to find the source of the sound. What in God's name had she done?

"5…"

She looked back out the window. More synths had jumped down and cornered Danse. He'd reduced some to ash, but they kept coming.

"4…"

The engine core above him began to glow blue, and dread dropped like a rock in her gut. She'd triggered a test fire of the rocket, and if Danse didn't move, it would fry him.

"Danse!" she exclaimed again.

Addison rushed out of the room and into the hallway. She tried to call to him, but he could not hear her over the roar of the rifles all around him.

"Engine firing."

Addison hated it, but she had to retreat, run back to the maintenance room as the walls began to rattle and send dust everywhere. The sound of the rocket firing was deafening. A mass of energy left the nozzle and set everything aflame. The synths were reduced to ash in seconds.

Addison had to raise her hand to her eyes because of the brightness, but it was over a few moments later. Danse was crouched in his power armor in the corner, not moving.

She ran out of the maintenance room. "Danse!" she exclaimed, as she reached the area under the rocket. The stench of scorched metal was sharp in her nostrils.

"Oh my God! Are you alright?"

Danse stayed down, his breathing harsh in his helmet. "Got…cooked by the flames…" He lifted his head. "Thanks to my power armor I'm still in one piece."

"It was an accident," she sputtered. "I didn't mean to-,"

He staggered to a standing position. His armor looked mostly intact, if not burned black. The plates on his leg had popped off, leaving behind only the damaged frame.

"The important thing is we're still alive, and we have a way to get to the transmitter."

Her brow rose slightly—his dedication was certainly…commendable.

They took the elevator beside them up, and Addison could see that Danse was clearly in pain. The door opened to a room littered with more synth bodies. She let him stand off to the side as she combed the area.

The terminals had been mostly smashed or stripped for parts. She decided to search the synths—maybe they had come for some tech themselves.

"I think I found something," she said, as she retrieved a gadget clutched in the metal hand of a destroyed synth.

She held up a small cube to him—it looked like some sort of communicator in her limited expertise. Danse walked over to her, his face scrunched up in pain. It looked as if one of the synths had taken a shot at his leg.

"Outstanding," he said. "This will certainly help Scribe Haylen boost our radio strength. Let's take this elevator to the surface."

Addison hesitated. "Are you sure-,"

"Move out," he said, then smashed his fist into the elevator button.

They hardly fit in the small space together. He stayed as far to the back as possible while she huddled up in the front. Danse did not seem like the kind of person that liked to touch people, even in his armor.

The elevator opened up to a bunker on the surface. Visibility was low because it was completely dark out. Addison swallowed nervously at the prospect of venturing out at a time like this.

She hurried out first. "It looks clear from here," she said, but she was cut off when Danse made a strangled noise and staggered to one side.

"Are you okay?" she asked while taking two long strides over to him.

Addison ignored him because he only grunted in reply. She flipped on the flashlight of her Pip-Boy, and a greenish glow fell across the armor frame on his leg.

"You're bleeding," she said. "Badly."

"Damn synth clipped my leg…" he muttered under his breath.

"Why don't you let me look at it?" she suggested. "You can't walk like this."

"No," he said immediately. "I'll be fine."

Addison frowned at his stubbornness. "We have a long walk ahead of us. You-,"

Danse sharply exhaled. "I said no, civilian."

She shifted her stance instead of raising her voice. "Danse, I know you don't want to leave your armor, but if you don't let me assess the extent of the injury on your leg, there might be long term damage. Damage that affects your ability to complete further recon missions."

Danse peered down at her, his skin pale and sickly looking in the green light. His square jaw tightened under his stubble. "Fine," he ground out, and his arms dropped.

Addison smiled politely and stepped back. At least her words had some persuasive power, despite her lackluster skills in combat. "Thank you, Paladin. Now step out of that tin can."

He shuffled around to find an open space. "This is a highly-specialized piece of military-grade armor."

His chest piece hissed and then the pieces lifted open like a cocoon. Danse began to step out before he winced in pain. Addison reached forward to help him, straining under his weight and guiding him onto the ratty couch in the bunker.

Addison adjusted the lamplight on his helmet so it shined down on them. He was looking away from her—maybe nervous because he wasn't in his armor? All he wore underneath was an orange jumpsuit embroidered with what she assumed was the Brotherhood seal. He was tall and well-built, certainly.

His shin and the muscle of his calf was sticky with blood. She pulled out some bandages and a Stimpak from her bag.

"Are you trained in this sort of thing?" he asked.

"Not…exactly," she admitted. "Haylen will probably be more help, but there's no use in you bleeding out till we get to her."

Addison tossed him the Stimpak while she rolled up the part of his jumpsuit covering the wound. Danse rubbed his temple while she worked, but gave no indication that he was in pain.

"Our mission could have gone smoother," he said.

She unraveled the bandages. "I thought we worked alright together."

"Agreed," he replied. "It's refreshing to work with a civilian who can follow orders."

Addison looked up at him, smiling slightly. "Is that what you look for in a partner?"

"Yes," he said. "But you also kept your cool back there and handled what was thrown at us like a soldier. There's no doubt in my mind that you've got what it takes."

She stopped what she was doing and kept her eyes on her hands. "I'm…not much of a soldier."

"That doesn't mean you can't become one," he replied. "I see potential in you, and I'd like to make you a proposal." He leaned forward slightly. "I would like to offer you a place in our ranks. A chance to become a member of the Brotherhood of Steel."

Addison tucked the remaining edge of the bandages into the other layers she'd wrapped around his calf. "You want…" She shook her head—her _only_ goal right now was supposed to be finding Shaun. She was getting distracted enough as it was. Joining this group might be no help at all.

"What would you expect of me?" she asked.

"You'd be under my command, and I'd expect you to follow orders," Danse explained. "You'd have access to advanced military weapons, as well as your own suit of power armor."

Addison cleared her throat and looked away. Enticing, to be sure. To have access to more than her pistol and the crudely made weapons she scrounged from raiders. She had _no_ idea where Shaun was at this point, and the Brotherhood's expansive resources might be exactly what she needed to get to him. It felt…wrong to commit for that reason, but what choice did she have?

"Alright, Paladin," she said. "I'll join."

He did not smile, but sounded more excited nonetheless. "That's what I wanted to hear." He reached beside him. "I should compensate you for your assistance retrieving the transmitter as well. Here." He handed her his rifle. "It's my own personal modification of the standard Brotherhood Laser Rifle."

"Don't you need it?" Addison asked, as she took it in her hands. It was heavier than her pistol, and she had absolutely no idea how to use it.

"This isn't the only weapon at my disposal," he said. "Brotherhood soldiers always carry a backup."

She smiled at him. "Thank you very much, Paladin."

"You're…welcome, civilian," he said. "Though I will remind you to be stringent with your ammunition."

"I'll try," she replied, as she packed away the rest of her supplies. "Your leg will probably be okay for the time being. Haylen should look at it once you're back at the police station, though."

Danse stood when she moved out of the way and limped over to his armor. "I need to return immediately so we can begin work on the radio." He looked over his shoulder at her. "Do you wish to accompany me?"

Addison hesitated. "I have very urgent business in Diamond City, but I…" Her eyes slid to the window where the world was shrouded in complete darkness. "I don't like traveling at this time."

Night was not good for her, especially alone in the Commonwealth. When she ventured out, the area around her seemed too vast, the world too populated with dangerous creatures—God, she felt like such a _wimp_ , but it terrified her to go out by herself in the darkness knowing the slew of things that could attack her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You probably regret offering me a place in the Brotherhood knowing I'm so…" She scrubbed the side of her face. "I'm just very unfamiliar with this environment."

"You never left the Vault before this?" Danse asked incredulously.

She looked up. "I couldn't-," Her words trailed off because it occurred to her that Danse, like many others, had no idea that she had lived here _before_ the war. "I didn't, I meant."

He shook his head. "It's a shame that those who ran your Vault left you so unequipped to handle the world out here. Did they just set you loose with no guidance?"

"Sort of," Addison said. She lifted her bag to her shoulders, her other hand holding her new laser rifle. Her chest rose in a sigh.

"Listen, if we're going to be working together, you should know something."

Danse turned to face her. "Yes?"

Addison struggled to find the right words, her mouth opening a few seconds before any sound actually came out. "I—was technically in a Vault, but I was cryogenically frozen. When the bombs first fell."

His prominent brow arched in. "First fell? In 2077?"

"Yes."

Danse made a sound of disbelief. "You're telling me you were alive _before_ the war? 200 years ago?" He shifted and put his hand against his temple before she could respond. "That's incredible. You must have a _wealth_ of knowledge about pre-war technology."

"Er—I suppose," she admitted, which perhaps was a little further from the truth than he might like.

"Are there any more of you?" he asked.

Addison dropped her head. God, why did thinking about what happened to Nate _never_ get any easier? Why did the simple mention of the Vault send her mind spiraling into the very depths of despair? Images of Shaun, of _Nate_ , the loving family she had ripped from her, cycled through her mind, unabated no matter how much time passed.

"No," she said. "I was the…um, sole survivor." Her fingers fiddled with the cool metal of her wedding ring. She would _not_ allow herself to cry, she knew that much.

"Well—I suppose my son survived, too," she added quickly. "He was…kidnapped. From the Vault. I don't know by whom, but that's why I need to return to Diamond City. A detective there is helping me find him."

"Your son?" Danse began. "I—You have my condolences."

"Thanks," she muttered, before she swallowed roughly. "Listen, I…how about I come with you to the police station? We'll be safer together, and it will put me closer to my destination."

"Good idea," he said—he sounded relived to be moving _away_ from any sort of personal conversation. "Let's get going."

Danse jumped into his power armor, the pieces molding back over him before he flipped his helmet in his hands and secured it on his head. She had been surprised at how…normal he'd looked out of it. Addison decided it was best not to comment on that, though.

He led her out of the bunker, and they did not speak the entire trip back to the police station.


	3. Chapter 3

They returned to the police station with little incident, though they moved slower because of Danse's injury. He did not complain, but his face was drawn in a clear expression of disdain.

When they reached the door, Danse stepped inside first. From around his massive frame, Addison could see Haylen and Rhys gathering.

"Are we in luck, sir?"

"Mission accomplished," Danse said. "We managed to locate a piece of tech that might help boost our radio signal."

Rhys' shoulders dropped in relief just as Addison finished climbing the steps. "Finally," he said. "Some good news for once. Nice work, sir."

"I didn't do it alone," Danse said. "Our civilian contact was instrumental in the success of this mission. Which is why I'd like you to welcome the newest member of our team. She shows promise, with the proper training."

Addison's gaze lowered immediately, cheeks stained red because she was never good at receiving praise. For a long time in her life, she rarely got it.

She heard Rhys speak—his tone conveyed his contempt better than anything. "So you decided to stay?" he began, scowling. "I figured you'd take your payment and run."

"I apologize if I've done something to offend you," Addison replied. "But I can assure you I'm here for the right reasons."

His eyes narrowed. "We'll see about that."

Danse's neck snapped sideways, and he frowned. "Rhys, that's enough. You're going to have to work together, like it or not."

Rhys muttered something along the lines of _yes, sir_ in reply, which apparently satisfied Danse. He turned his focus to her.

"And you," he said. " _You_ need to learn about what it means to be in the Brotherhood."

Addison cleared her throat. "I assume you're about to tell me?"

Danse turned to face her completely. "We are not soldiers of fortune. We're an army, and we've dedicated ourselves to upholding a strict code of ethics. If you intend to stay within our ranks, you need to obey our tenets without question."

It was disappointing, but Addison could be good at that. She'd lived her life _without question_ for a long time, constantly directed by the people around her. Her mother, her father, Nate. Exiting the Vault had been the first time in her life she'd truly felt…unburdened. She hated it because of the cost such freedom came at.

Danse lifted his arm to gesture with it. "I only ask for two things from anyone under my command: honesty and respect. You fall in line, you stay in line. I give you an order, and you follow it. It's as simple as that."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Addison said.

"Good," Danse replied curtly. "Then from this point forward, I'm granting you the rank of Initiate. This is only a training rank—I'm not permitted to grant anything higher."

Addison shifted uncomfortably—Nate would have been so much better with this military decorum. "Thank you, I suppose."

Haylen straightened and gave her a quick nod. "Ad victorium, Initiate."

"She doesn't even know what that means, Haylan," Rhys sneered.

Addison lifted a finger. "I do, actually," she said. "It's Latin. To victory?"

Danse furrowed his brow. "How did you know that?"

"I….went to law school," she explained. "To be—a lawyer? I suppose that profession died out…" She waved her hand dismissively. "The point is, I learned a lot of Latin there."

Rhys turned hostile again. "Law school? How-,"

"Initiate Howard's relevant background information will be available when I log our report into the terminal, Knight," Danse interrupted. "For now, I need Haylen to get our new member settled."

"Right," Haylen said, then slipped between the group to gesture Addison over to another room. "This way."

She stopped in a room whose roof had half collapsed, spilling debris into the corner that had been somewhat swept away. Moonlight fell across a sleeping bag and Haylen's other things.

"I'll get you set up with some ammo, Stimpacks, that sort of thing," she said, as she rummaged through a crate across from her. "You'll need fusion cells for the rifle Paladin Danse gave you." She turned and looked over her shoulder, eyes barely visible because of the rim of her hat. "You ever used a laser rifle before?"

Addison considered lying, then shook her head. "No, I haven't."

Haylen stood. "Well, Danse will lecture you about it-," She smiled slightly. " _A lot_ , but you want to make sure you keep that thing in good shape. The crystal array is very sensitive and parts are hard to come by."

"I understand," Addie said—and she did. While she did not have much experience firing weapons—that was not a ladylike hobby, according to her mother—she _did_ know how to clean them and care for them. Nate could never be bothered to do so with his weapons, so she did it for him.

They heard the scuttle of rocks near what was left of the door. Addison looked up in time to see Rhys in the threshold; a disgusted look crossed his shadowy features before he spun on his heel and disappeared.

Addison shook her head while she removed her bag from her shoulder. She knelt down and opened the flap. "Why does Rhys hate me so much?"

Haylen crossed her arms and she leaned against a stone slab near her. "He doesn't hate you," she said. "Rhys just _bleeds_ Brotherhood. It's all he cares about. It's his family, his whole life." Her eyes dropped down. "If anything else comes into the picture and gets in the way, he shoves it aside."

Addison cocked her eyebrow. "He could still be _nice_ and bleed Brotherhood."

"That's not in his nature, I guess," she replied with a shrug.

Addison tried to make more room in her pack for the fusion cells. She tried to keep her tone light. "Is there…something going on between you two?"

Haylen's eyes snapped up, and Addison quickly lifted her hand.

"I don't mean to impose," she said hurriedly. She stood, though her knees groaned in protest. "I was only offering to talk because I can imagine it's been difficult traveling with men like Rhys and Danse the past few weeks—they don't seem to see anything beyond the Brotherhood or their jobs."

Haylen's brows arched in. "They're…" A sigh escaped her. "They're alike in that way." She uncrossed her arms before biting her lip. "I'll admit I had some reservations when I first joined up with the Brotherhood. But, Rhys was the one who sponsored me. He took me under his wing, showed me the ropes. I…thought there was a little more between us."

"Did you say anything to him?" Addison asked.

Haylen snorted. "I did," she said. "Rhys told me that the Brotherhood was all he cared about, and there was no room for anything else in his life."

Her face fell after that, the ends of her small mouth dipping down. "Look, I…I need to get back to my work. Just…" She shook her head. "Don't go after those military types. Their priorities will always disappoint you."

"I'm-,"

"Initiate."

Addison jumped and turned around. She did not know how she couldn't have heard Danse coming in while he was in that giant tin can, but yet there he stood with the samw sternness on his face. She started to walk closer to him—it was further than she thought it would be because he retreated into the main lobby of the police station.

"I've been thinking about your plans to go to Diamond City," he said once he was facing her. "And I don't think you should."

Addison gave him a confused look. "I appreciate your opinion, Paladin, but…I'm going."

"Howard, you are not equipped to survive in the Commonwealth on your own," he insisted. "You might have gotten lucky up until now, but if you keep venturing around, you'll-,"

"I'll what?" she cut in. "Die before you get a chance to mine my brain for that pre-war information you're so eager for?"

"Watch your tone," he replied evenly. "You are a member of the Brotherhood now, and as your commanding officer, I am sworn to protect you. And you've sworn to follow my orders."

He leaned back and straightened—his posture looked good even in his power armor. "As such, I think you should wait until reinforcements arrive before you depart."

Addison clenched her jaw tight—she'd have to screw etiquette for a moment to deal with this. "I am going to Diamond City," she snapped. " _Tomorrow_. I told you my son was alive. Some _stranger_ broke into my Vault and kidnapped him. If you think I'm going to sit here when there are perfectly good leads about my _child_ in Diamond City, you've underestimated my commitment to my family."

Danse was much, much larger than her, at least in his power armor. He stared down into her eyes, calculating—she didn't know what, maybe some _variable_ in the lines of her face. Her chances of capitulating to him. Which were none.

His lip curled into a scowl. "I will accompany you to Diamond City. We will leave tomorrow morning and return as swiftly as possible. Am I clear?"

Addison sighed. "I didn't ask you to come."

"I can't send Rhys or Haylen, and someone has to ensure your safety," Danse said. "You certainly can't do it."

For a split second, she wanted to punch his teeth in. Not that she'd ever seen his teeth because he didn't smile. "Alright, Paladin," she said slowly. "We'll do it your way."

"We leave at dawn," Danse replied. "You will be ready as soon as I am."

Addison crossed her arms. "Fine," she said, then she turned and walked back towards the room Haylen was in. Her eyes flicked over to him. "You're a little bossy, did you know that?"

Danse clopped in his armor to face her. "You can't _say_ that, Initiate."

Addison just threw her hand out in an annoyed gesture as she walked away. Yes, Paladin Danse was good with his rifle, good at protecting her, but it was a pain to have to drag him around the Commonwealth with her if he was going to be so damned _obtuse_.


	4. Chapter 4

The frosty edges of the glass on the cryo-pod. The muffled gun shot. Her fists beating sluggish and weak against the door, unable to scream, unable to cry. Nate's slumped torso. All things she had seen and heard in that terrifying minute after waking up from her cold slumber.

And now she saw it all every night when she closed her eyes.

The nightmares were why she avoided sleep so much since she came to the Commonwealth—it wasn't just the darkness, or the constant fear that she would be attacked. It was knowing that when she closed her eyes she would remember all too vividly how powerless she had been in that moment.

God, she'd been powerless in _every_ moment of her life, but that was the worst. The unconscionable.

The most mortifying thing about her nightmares? She woke up gasping Nate's name, loud enough that she _knew_ someone must have heard. She didn't care in that moment; instead, she clenched her fingers in her straw pillow and sobbed into it.

Addison missed her husband. She missed her son. She missed her old life when everything wasn't so dangerous and destructive. She was left alone in a _wasteland_ now and she hated it.

Her tears had hardly dried when she heard Danse shuffling around in the other room. He would be ready soon, shoving her out the door for their mission, no doubt.

The sun had risen above the horizon for all of two seconds before Danse was in the lobby of the police station, in his power armor, _barking_ at her. Addison did not like being accosted so early in the morning. As she trudged out towards him, she sighed.

"I see you still have that sunny disposition of yours even this early in the morning," she remarked.

Danse stared straight at her before his eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you ready to go?"

Addison hiked her bag up her shoulder. She was never that funny, so it was probably better that he not laugh at her jokes.

They pushed out of the doors into the foggy morning air, and Addison paused with her head bowed. Her fingers kneaded her brow for a moment—it was amazing how her nightmares completely sapped the energy from her very bones.

"Is Nate your son?" Danse asked abruptly.

Addison lifted her head, and he spoke quickly again.

"I apologize," he blurted out. "I-I heard you, at night."

She shook her head. "No, it's okay. Shaun is my son. Nate is— _was_ my husband."

Danse cleared his throat. "Was he…in the Vault with you?"

Addison clenched her jaw to hold back tears because she didn't need him to think that she was even _weaker_. "He was. Whoever stole Shaun shot Nate when he wouldn't let our son go."

Danse looked horrified at her admission—maybe because of the nature of what happened, but also perhaps because he had no idea what to say.

"Initiate—Howard, I'm…I'm very sorry for your loss."

Addison sighed—she supposed he was expressing an acceptable degree of sympathy. It was embarrassing that he'd heard her crying. Still, he tried.

"Thank you, Danse." She scrubbed her brow again. "I'm sure you want to get going, right?"

"Er—yes," he admitted. "We need to make this trip as short as possible. Haylen is almost done altering the radio tower, and I want to send out a message to my superiors right away."

They descended the stairs of the police station, and she let Danse lead the way, even though she was quite certain where they were going. It was probably better that he was in front—he'd be a larger target for anyone who came too close to them.

They had been trekking across the road, in silence of course, for about twenty minutes when Addison heard a gruff bark from further up the hill. Danse immediately spun in that direction, rifle lifted.

A brown and blackish shadow was darting through the brambles, cracking twigs and sending leaves flying everywhere. She heard the bark again, closer this time, and beamed.

"Dogmeat!"

She hurried forward, while Danse made a surprised noise.

"Howard!"

Dogmeat leapt onto the road, and Addison knelt down and rubbed his scruff.

" _Howard_ ," Danse said again. "What-,"

Addison looked at him. "Calm down, Paladin. This isn't one of those rabid canines." She rubbed Dogmeat's ears as he nuzzled his snout in her face. "This is my dog. I met him near Sanctuary."

Danse lowered his rifle. "He just…follows you around?"

"Sometimes," Addison said as she stood. "He does his own thing when he wants, but he's pretty good at tracking me."

"I'm not sure you should bring your _pet_ into combat around the Commonwealth," Danse remarked with a critical look.

"His name is Dogmeat," she said. "And he can hold his own."

Danse stared down at Dogmeat while he sat and his tail thumped against the pavement. He then turned abruptly and began hiking back down the road. Addison watched him go and resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Don't worry, boy," she said softly. She crouched back down again to adjust Dogmeat's bandana. "He's a bit of a grump, but I'm glad you're here." Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she nuzzled her face into his soft fur. Dogmeat was more comfort than she wanted to admit, especially when she had nightmares. "Thanks for finding me."

"Soldier!"

Addison rose to her feet. "Coming!" she called back to Danse, with her very, _very_ best attempt at a smile. Despite her efforts, it was not a very good one.

* * *

Howard was not the most efficient traveler, though that did not surprise Danse. She stopped far too often at the various dilapidated structures that they encountered on their way, looking for junk.

She didn't even gather useful things like ammo or food or weapons. Hell, she didn't even pick up valuable relics. Just _pencils_. Every time she saw one at a desk or around a battered folder, she'd pluck it up and drop it into her bag. Utterly useless.

He commented on her excess, but she mostly ignored him, her damn dog always quick to stay on her heels.

They crossed the bridge to the brewery, then climbed up the hills just outside Diamond City. Howard found an old hut that had been used for growing crops. For the first time, Danse was the one to recommend that they stop.

"One of the panels on my leg armor needs adjustment," he said.

"I'll be inside," she replied, though he couldn't hear her so well over the sound of his armor opening from the back. He hopped out of it and inspected the new panels he'd attached to his power armor frame. It was sloppier work than he would have liked, but he did not have much choice after Howard insisted they leave for Diamond City as soon as possible. Luckily, he always carried some tools with him to ensure his armor was in good working order.

He heard Howard rustling around in the hut while he worked—more damn pencils, probably. Danse had everything tightened and went through the door to tell Howard to hurry up.

She had moved some pots and debris to the floor and laid out a large piece of paper. The sunlight streamed in through the half-destroyed wall beside her, shining on hair as it fell over her shoulders.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She did not lift her head. "I'm updating my map."

He hesitated in his decision to step closer and stand on the other side of the table. He would have preferred to be wearing his power armor, but he wouldn't fit through the door with it.

Danse looked down and watched as she drew a symbol on the map where he assumed they were right now. Her work was intricate. Incredibly neat.

"This is impressive," he said. "Does it cover the whole Commonwealth?"

She finally looked up. "Eventually, I hope."

"We will have to make copies of this for the Brotherhood reinforcements that arrive," he said. "The other recon teams will find it useful."

"You really think more of your troops will come?" she asked.

"It's possible," he replied. "Those unusual energy readings we've been tracking could lead us to some powerful technology, which will require reinforcements."

Addison began carefully folding the map back to a manageable size. She stored it in her bag before pulling out another box. She bit her lip before she spoke.

"Listen," she began. "I wanted to apologize for what I said last night. For my tone, too. I didn't mean to be rude, but I…" She shrugged. "When it comes to finding my son, I can get—a bit…driven."

He was surprised she was offering an apology after such a small incident. She was really far too concerned with being nice. "I understand your goals, and I understand that being in the Brotherhood is an adjustment," Danse said. "But respect is how we keep things running here."

Her mouth scrunched up slightly before her shoulders dropped. "It won't happen again," she said, as she tapped her fingernails against the box. She flipped open the lid. "Have some cake. As a peace offering."

"Cake?" he said incredulously.

"Yeah." She showed him the lid. "Fancy Lads? They were my favorite when I was a kid." She picked one out and popped it in her mouth. "My mother never let me eat them. She insisted they were terrible for my health."

Addison inspected the box. "Considering these survived a nuclear holocaust, I suppose she was right."

Dogmeat chuffed and then jumped up so his front paws were rested on the counter. She offered him a cake, and he swallowed it in one bite, his sharp teeth speckled with icing.

"You want one?" she asked him.

Danse paused to consider her question, as he often did. He did not know if he should be encouraging such…familiarity.

Those cakes _were_ his favorite, though. And he was hungry.

Danse supposed she only meant to be friendly, so he reached out and selected one before quickly turning away.

"Thank you, Initiate," he said. "Now let's get going."

She closed the box. "Right away, Paladin."

Danse walked back to his power armor and climbed inside. Dogmeat bounded out in front of Howard as she joined him. He turned to look across the barren trees at what remained of Boston. God, he hoped whatever Howard had planned in Diamond City went quickly. Sure, he was picking up some supplies they needed in the marketplace, but he wasn't sure this trip was really worth it.

Yet, Howard couldn't be allowed to go out on her own. Not with all the knowledge in that head of hers. Who knows what she could tell them about the world before the war? What stockpiles or secret places she knew about? Maybe she had even greater technical expertise than the Brotherhood Scribes.

Despite all the nuisance this woman was currently causing, Danse _knew_ it would be worth it in the end, when he presented her and her unusual circumstances to Maxson. This was another way he could serve the Brotherhood, and he'd be damned if he let her go off on her own and get herself hurt.

Paladin Danse was great with his laser rifle and _terrible_ at making friends. Not even friends—he was completely inadequate at interacting with anyone who wasn't in the Brotherhood.

One of those people included Myrna, from Diamond City Surplus. She was a paranoid, surly woman—but so were a lot of people in the Commonwealth. Danse was standing in front of her, frowning deeply, while she scowled back.

"Keep away from my stall," Myrna snapped. "I don't know you. I will not serve a _synth_ pretending to be human."

"A _synth_?" Danse began angrily. "I am a member of the Brotherhood of Steel, and I will not be spoken to in such a manner. How do I know _you're_ not a synth? I saw that robot of yours in the back."

Addison exhaled sharply as she watched him from a few feet away. "God," she muttered under her breath. She hurried over and put her hand on a part of Danse's armor as she leaned between them.

"Hi, Myrna," she said with a smile. "Good afternoon. Please excuse my er—acquaintance. He's very…" She looked up at Danse, his dark brows set low. "He's certainly not a synth," she finished.

"Of course I'm not," Danse snapped.

Addison cleared her throat to shush him. "I'll vouch for him, okay?" she said to Mynra. "Don't worry."

Myrna's eyes narrowed, and her arms tightened across her chest. "Well, you do look human enough," she said, then raised a finger to him. "But I'll be watching you. I have eyes like a…" She huffed. "Well, they're good eyes, got it?"

"I'll be watching you too, civilian," Danse replied, and Addison tightened her hand around his massive metal arm.

"Paladin, why don't we go?" she suggested.

Addison began dragging him away before he could reply, though in his armor she could not really persuade him to go far without his help.

"I do not like her," Danse remarked, as they trotted closer to Taki's bar.

"You don't have to do business with her," Addison replied. "I'm sure Arturo has what you need. He gives me a discount."

"Why does he do that?" he asked.

Addison shrugged. "He likes me? I mean, not like _that_ , but we're friends, so he gives me a break on his prices."

Danse grunted. "Well, I suppose the Brotherhood will find that useful."

She gave a polite nod to the Diamond City Security Guard that passed them and scrutinized Danse suspiciously. "Good to hear," she said. "I'm going to go to Nick's office. While I'm there, you can-,"

"Don't be ridiculous," he cut in. "I'm coming with you."

Addison cleared her throat. "Oh—I'm not sure that's necessary. Really. I'll be fine on my own. I'm sure you're busy."

He furrowed his brow. "No. I came here with you. To ensure your safety. I intend to keep my promise."

"You're pretty stubborn," Addison replied with a huff.

"I'm also in _charge_ , soldier."

She looked up at him. The set of his jaw told her there was no changing his mind.

"Alright," she said. "If you're going to _insist_ on coming with me, you should know that the detective, Nick, he's…" She hesitated before her shoulders slumped. "He's a synth."

Danse's mouth curled into a scowl. "Excuse me?"

She threw her arm out. "This is why I didn't want to bring you!"

"Why?" he demanded. "Because I have a fundamental problem with those _things_ crawling around the Commonwealth? A problem _you_ should have because you're a member of the Brotherhood."

"I didn't even know what a synth _was_ until a few weeks ago," Addison replied. "And I understand your concern, but Nick is the _only_ person who's going to help me find Shaun."

Danse stepped closer to her. "I do not like this," he said. "In fact, I won't allow-,"

"Not your call," Addison interrupted. "Brotherhood business and son business are _separate_."

She spun on her heel before he could reply, yet she could hear him clomping behind her as she made her way towards Nick's office, past third base and down the narrow alley leading to his door.

"Howard, I could have you formally brought up on charges for this."

"Or you could just kick me out," she snapped, then she threw a scowl in his direction. "But, _wait_ , I'm your precious pre-War relic, and you want information from me. My map."

He clenched his jaw and breathed slowly through his nose. "I told you when you first joined that you were to stay in line."

She pressed the heels of her palms against her temples. "Danse, can we please do this _after_ I talk to Nick? I really need his help finding Shaun." She let her hands drop. "I'm sorry about my tone, I'm sorry you feel like I'm being insubordinate. I can be the consummate Brotherhood Initiate if you just let me do _this_."

"You are on _very_ thin ice," he growled.

"I understand," Addison said. "Now can we please go inside?" She looked up and down his power armor. " _Try_ to be inconspicuous."

"I am not proficient at that," he replied.

"Oh, I know," Addison said, then she rapped her fist twice against the door before opening it.

Nick's office was as small and cramped as she remembered, but Danse somehow managed to squeeze inside behind her. Ellie, Nick's secretary, was there and smiled broadly upon seeing her.

"Addison!" she exclaimed. "It's so great to see you. _Thank you_ for rescuing Nick, for saving my job."

"It was no problem, Ellie," she replied with a small smile. "I was happy to help."

Nick walked out from the small room in the back before he stopped dead.

"Who's your friend, Addison?" he asked immediately.

She moved so she was partially in front of Danse, mostly because she didn't need him doing anything with that rifle of his.

"What the hell kind of synth-,"

Addison interrupted Danse with a hasty gesture of her hand. "Nick, this is Paladin Danse. He's—well, you know who he's with, but his _only_ role here is to stand quietly and not disturb us."

Danse just grunted in reply while she continued.

"Paladin, this is Nick Valentine. He's helping me find Shaun. And yes, he's a synth. Or a prototype of one."

"A discarded prototype," Nick said, his yellow eyes still narrowed.

Addison ran her hand through her hair. "Now that we're done with the introductions, I'd love to talk to Nick about finding my son."

Nick sighed. "Alright. I suppose your tin friend can stay." He sat down on one side of his desk. "Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable."

Addison did as he asked, her heart suddenly beating faster. Dogmeat's claws clicked against the floor as he trotted forward and settled down beside her. "Have you found anything?"

"We'll get to that," Nick said, as he leaned back in his chair. "First, I need you to tell me everything you can about what happened."

Addison nodded. "Shaun is…he's less than a year old. He was in the cryo-pod with my husband, Nate." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "The people in the Vault did not tell us they were going to freeze us. They lied. I don't remember anything except waking up to a loud siren. Then…"

The chair she was in was rough and uncomfortable. She tried to think about that rather than the despair crushing her every sense. "There were two people. A man and a woman. She tried to pry Shaun from Nate's arms. He resisted, so…the man shot him. Left him there." She sniffled, knowing her attempt to keep her emotions bottled was to little avail.

"I know this is difficult," Nick said, with more compassion in his voice than Danse had ever showed her. "But is there anything else you remember?"

Addison sighed and squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she looked down. "I couldn't see the woman at all. She was wearing some sort of…medical suit? I'm not sure."

Nick shifted, eyes drawn to his desk in concentration. "Even from what you've said so far, it seems like this was not an ordinary kidnapping. You were underground in a high-security Vault, cryogenically _frozen_. To get to you must have taken an incredible amount of money and resources. Hell, to even know you were _there_ probably required access to pre-war data."

"So you think this was an organized group of some sort?" Addison asked.

"It's possible," Nick replied. "There are a lot of groups in the Commonwealth that take people. Raiders, Super Mutants, the Gunners, and of course, there's the Institute."

Addison had heard only a little about the Institute since leaving the Vault. Once she had learned it was formed from the remains of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology, she wanted to know nothing more.

"You think the Institute is responsible?"

Nick shrugged. "Well, they're the bogeyman of the Commonwealth. Something goes wrong, everyone blames them." His yellow eyes then met hers with an even stare. "Given your family's background…"

Addison was snapped out of her gloom quickly after that. Did Nick know something he shouldn't? Something about her former life that she thought was completely destroyed?

"My—my what?"

"Your family?" he began. "The Claytons? I did some research on you after I returned to my office and found your maiden name. Despite the little pre-war information we have nowadays, I was able to find some intel."

Addison pushed her hair behind her ear. "You really think the Institute would kidnap Shaun because of…because…"

Despite her request, Danse stepped forward to interject. "Soldier, if you have ties to the Institute that you have not disclosed, I expect you to do so."

She craned her neck around to give him an exasperated look. "I don't have any ties to the Institute, Danse. They weren't around before the war."

"And your family?" he asked.

"My family is _dead_ ," she replied sharply. "My parents died 200 years ago, and Nate was murdered. Shaun is all I have."

Nick leaned forward to grab a cigarette from his desk. "The Institute probably still knows who your father is."

"Howard," Danse said, tone harder. "Explain."

"There is nothing to _explain_ ," she said with a frustrated glare behind her. She then paused at the slightly nauseous feeling in her stomach. Damn Nick and his detective skills.

Nick flipped open his lighter. "We have to acknowledge that your father's work might have influenced the Institute's decision to come after your son."

Addison buried her face in her hands. Why is it that all the good things from her former life were gone, but the _bad_ things remained to haunt her?

"What work?" Danse demanded.

"My father was a scientist," she began. "He graduated from CIT and had pretty close ties to them throughout his career. He worked on the cold fusion power cell that was eventually used in the first set of T-45 power armor. After that, he formed his own company, Warren Industries. He mostly did downstream refining work related to uranium mining to help fund his experiments, but eventually-,"

Danse had walked even closer now, towering over her as she sat. "Eventually Warren Industries was purchased by General Atomics International."

"Vertical integration, as it were," Addison said. "That's why Nate and I had Codsworth. It was a gift from my father. A top of the line Mr. Handy."

Danse started to speak before he had to stop and shake his head from disbelief. "Are you trying to tell me that your _father_ was one of the captains of industry who caused the war?"

She sat up. " _Caused_ is a bit dramatic-,"

"Their innovations were what allowed the nuclear bombs to come into existence in the first place," he said. "Their excess caused the food shortages, inflation. I told you they were the final nail in the coffin of-,"

"Yes, I get it," Addison cut in hastily. "For what it's worth, I never approved of my father's work. He wasn't ethical; he abused his workers for the sake of efficiency. That's precisely why I never became a scientist like him."

"That's no excuse," Danse replied sternly. "You stood by and watched as they destroyed the world."

Addison turned in her chair so she was almost completely facing him. "Of course I feel bad about it _now_ ," she said. "But I'm only one person. There was nothing I could do."

That felt like a flimsy excuse, but before Danse could reply, Nick cleared his throat. "As much as I love watching you two kids debate the effects of pre-war corporate power on our ultimate demise, I believe we were trying to determine whether the Institute had taken your son?"

Addison sighed. "You really think they targeted Shaun because of my father?"

"The Institute is staffed by scientists, and seeing as Dr. Clayton was a preeminent nuclear physicist before the war…"

She swallowed roughly then covered her eyes with her hand. "I can't— _God_. Just because he was a scientist doesn't mean Shaun would be any good at it!"

Nick raised his hand. "We don't know for sure what's happened, so don't worry yet. Tell me more about what the kidnappers looked like."

Addison leaned back. Danse was still close, towering over her on one side and frowning, of course. "There was a man," she said. "His voice was low and rough. He looked right at me. He was bald, had a scar across his left eye."

Nick stopped with his cigarette in his metal hand. "Wait," he said. "It couldn't be—You didn't hear the name _Kellogg_ , did you?"

Addison stopped to think for a moment, but the idea of zeroing in on the details of that moment terrified her. "I-I don't know," she said. "Everything was foggy."

Nick shook his head. "It's way too big of a coincidence. Kellogg was a dangerous mercenary in Diamond City once. No one knew who he worked for. But he bought a house here…" His eyes narrowed slightly while he paused. "He had a kid with him."

"What?" Addison said, then she leaned even further forward with her hands on the arms of the chair.

"Yeah, that's right," Nick said. "The abandoned house in the West Stands. The boy with him was around ten years old."

"Kellogg is _here_?" she demanded. "In town?"

Nick nodded. "They both vanished a while back, but the house is still there."

Addison immediately stood. "If it's there, we need to go investigate. Now."

"Whoa, hold on there, Initiate," Danse said. "You still have some explaining to do."

Addison exhaled angrily through her nose. "I do not see why I would be required to explain the circumstances of my life from _two hundred_ years ago."

"It is suspicious to say the least," Danse said.

"Oh you are suspicious of _everyone_!" she snapped, and even though she acknowledged her patience was fraying, she didn't care.

He scowled. "I am suspicious of those who are worthy of it," he replied. "Seeing as you are from a family with _very_ close ties to the Institute, I think it's warranted."

She clenched her jaw. "I will not let you get in the way of finding Kellogg."

"So this is your plan?" he asked sharply. "To continue to neglect your Brotherhood duties for the sake of running around Diamond City breaking into other people's homes?"

"It's one _abandoned_ home," she pointed out. "And the answer to your question is yes."

"Howard-,"

Addison stepped forward and put her hand on his armor again—she might as well lay on the persuasion thick, even though it wouldn't work on him. He regarded her with suspicion immediately. "Danse, I need to do this. Shaun is my _son_. If he's out there…" She resisted the urge to sniffle. "If he's out there, I _have_ to keep looking. I promise that when this is done I can make my work worth it to the Brotherhood."

Danse searched her eyes with his brown ones. His dark brows lifted as he relented. "I suppose the fact that you might be targeting the Institute is good enough for now."

"You don't have to come," she said.

"In fact, I would prefer you didn't," Nick interjected from his desk.

"Oh, I will be accompanying you," Danse replied evenly. "I don't trust your dog and that _thing_ to keep you safe."

"Hey, bucko-," Nick snapped.

Addison tried to shush them both. "Alright, Danse you can-," She sighed. "You can come because of your good aim and that power armor, but maybe you shouldn't _say_ anything."

"That seems ineffective," Danse remarked.

"Okay, then let's keep our conversations mission-specific," she said. "And maybe to a minimum." So that no one got into any fights. Or worse.

"Acceptable," Danse said, while Nick just snorted.

Addison gave a weak smile. A synth, a Paladin, and a dog. Her group of companions sounded like the beginning of a terrible joke like Nate used to tell. Except this wasn't a joke, and her son's life might be at stake. At least together they had plenty of firepower.


	5. Chapter 5

Danse was not sure if Howard was really adapting to the Brotherhood ideals he was supposed to be teaching her. Her first step in the plan to find her son was trying to pick a lock and break into someone's home. Granted, she did not succeed, and then coerced the Mayor's secretary to give her what she wanted, but her willingness to violate other's privacy was somewhat alarming.

He told her this, but as she had been doing since they arrived in Diamond City, she only glared in his direction without saying anything. He supposed that was her version of being polite even as she was losing her patience.

The home that Howard's synth detective-friend said belonged to Kellogg was technically abandoned. It was filled with broken appliances, a discarded desk, sleeping bags. No one had been living in the space for a while.

The only redeeming thing about the space was the secret room Howard found filled with some usable supplies. Howard ignored them and instead zeroed in on some cigars that she believed her dog could use to help track Kellogg. Danse begrudgingly admitted—in his mind only—that perhaps her canine companion could be useful for _something_.

Outside of Diamond City, they followed Dogmeat along the railroad tracks and the cracked asphalt of a road leading west. Howard tried to stay close, and Danse had no trouble keeping up with her. For every two steps she took, he took only one in his power armor.

"Howard, I'm concerned about this mission," he eventually announced.

She was holding Kellogg's cigar in her hand, clutching it so tightly her knuckles were white. "Why?"

"This Kellogg sounds like a dangerous combatant," he said. "A mercenary. You must know you're not equipped to fight someone like that."

Howard finally looked over at him as their feet crunched the weeds growing in the cracks of the road. Sunlight slanted over her pale, reddish skin. "I don't have a choice. Finding Kellogg is my only lead."

"You would risk your life like this to find your son?" he asked.

She met his eyes with a serious expression he had not seen before. "I would do anything to find him," she said, then shook her head slightly. "Don't you understand that? Don't you have a family?"

"I don't remember my parents, and I never had any siblings," Danse replied. "The Brotherhood is my family."

Howard sighed. "Well if you had a son, maybe you would understand my determination better."

"I do not need to have offspring to understand those principles," he said, though she did not look too impressed with his explanation.

She hiked ahead of him on the road, her boots skidding under gravel as she tried to get away quickly. Danse was not so out of touch with the emotions of others that he could not see she was upset with him. But if she thought he was going to coddle her or mimic her absurd degree of politeness, she was wrong. He was focused on results, Brotherhood principles, fighting the Institute—not appeasing _her_.

Danse heard a voice echoing over the hill. "Please, please help! I don't want to die!"

Howard stopped, her silhouette dark from behind him. Then she darted towards the source of the sound, her pistol still holstered at her belt.

"Howard," he sputtered. "You can't-,"

She was out of sight, so he jogged up the hill after her. She had stopped in front of two men, one on his knees beside the road, the other pointing a gun and standing in a defensive position. _Not_ a good situation.

"Shut your mouth or I swear I'll shut it for you!" the man exclaimed.

As Danse got closer, he noticed that the two of them were wearing similar outfits. In fact, they were wearing _identical_ outfits. The same ratty green jacket and jeans, the same shirt.

His heart thrummed faster in his chest because he realized they were the same person. He had to squint to confirm his suspicions because the man on his knees was slightly shrouded in shadow, but their hair and the lines of their noses were mirror-images.

One of them was a _synth_.

"Howard," Danse said, and his voice boomed across the empty road. He raised his rifle. "You will not get any closer."

"Please!" the man on his knees begged. "You've got to help me! This guy's a synth and he's going to kill me and replace me and my family…" He swallowed roughly. "Oh god, my kids…"

The other one jabbed him with his gun. "Don't you dare bring them up!" he snapped. "He's the synth, and he wants to replace _me_!"

Howard held up both hands. "Okay, we've clearly got a problem to solve, and I'm going to suggest that your _gun_ is not the way to do it."

The man on his knees clasped his hands together. There was sweat gathering on his brow—he looked genuinely frightened. "You've got to believe me!" he exclaimed. "You can't let that thing do this!"

Howard moved closer—standing _between_ the two identical men, still weaponless.

"Soldier!" Danse growled, and she ignored him.

"I'm on your side," Howard insisted. "Would you please put the gun down for me? I'm not going to let you get hurt. Tell me your name and let's figure this out."

They stood in a tense silence for a few moments, the man's rifle leveled at Howard's chest.

Then he lowered his gun. Hands still shaking, his body no longer as tense.

"I am not a synth," he said. "My name is Art."

"It's nice to meet you, Art," she replied "We will figure this out." She turned to look at the other man. She motioned with her hand so he would stand.

He shakily stood from his place on the ground, his jeans stained from the dirt. "Come this way," she ordered, and they migrated away a few steps. She leaned in close to speak to him, and Danse's hands tightened around his rifle. That man could be armed with a knife and bury it right in her gut.

He could not hear what they were talking about. Danse's eyes shifted between both men, but he was unable to discern which was a synth. Human replacement was the most horrifying tactic the Institute employed. They infiltrated the Commonwealth with their abhorrent technology and their work was almost undetectable. The stuff of nightmares.

Howard had no way of knowing which one of these men was the real Art. Would they be forced to kill them both? Would one of them confess?

Howard had finished talking to the unarmed Art. She turned to face the other one.

"No one has to die," she said.

He raised his gun again. "He wants me dead! He's never going to stop. I have to kill him."

"Don't listen to it," the other insisted. "It'll say anything to convince you."

"Okay, just-," Addison massaged her brow, still obviously confused. "How did you two find each other?" she asked.

Art did not lower his gun, but answered her question. "I was on my way to Bunker Hill. I round a bend and I see this guy," he said. " _Me_. Gun drawn, ready to fire." He shook his head. "After that, it's a blur. We scuffled for a while, but I won."

Howard was studying the man as he spoke, but she had no training to discern if he was lying.

Art scowled and narrowed his eyes. "Now, I don't know what else I can say to convince you. _He's_ the synth," he said. "Now are you going to get out of my way?"

Howard hesitated, and Danse considered intervening. She had no experience with synths. No experience with combat. No experience with anything really. How was she supposed to navigate this conversation? As her superior officer, Danse needed to do something.

Except that as Danse was calculating the probability of successfully convincing Howard to do something she didn't want to, she had already moved. Slid from her place between the two Arts, giving the one with a gun an open shot, which he took right away.

The single shot from the rifle was deafening, and one Art collapsed sideways, slumped on the ground beneath a quickly growing puddle of blood.

"Hey!" Danse exclaimed, gun raised higher and his fingers already applying pressure to the trigger.

"It's alright," Howard interjected hastily. "I picked the right one." She gestured down. "This one was a synth."

"What-," He shook his head. "How could you possibly know _that_?"

Nick passed him from further back on the road. "I sure hope you were right about this, Addison," he remarked.

"I wouldn't have moved if I wasn't sure this was the real Art," Howard replied.

Art had lifted his rifle to his shoulder, his brow furrowed deeply in concern. "Christ, why would the Institute want to replace _me_?"

"Nobody knows the Institute's agenda," Nick said, as he crouched down beside the dead Art, presumably to search his body. "But I do know this guy was a synth."

He showed the three of them a bloody synth component; Danse had not seen many of them, but as a Brotherhood soldier he had to be familiar with how to identify a synth body when he found one.

Danse's brows rose slightly in disbelief. "Good guess, soldier."

She put her hand on her hip. "It wasn't a guess," she said. "He admitted he was a synth."

"Wait—what?" Danse began. "Are you trying to tell me that this thing just _told_ you he was with the Institute?"

Nick stood. "It might help you to learn a thing or two from Addison about persuading without a weapon," he remarked.

Addison wiped the blood off the blue and yellow fabric of her jumpsuit. "He did in fact tell me he was a synth. I would have liked to question him, but…" She looked down at the synth's body and sighed. "Well, I knew Art was going to kill him as soon as he had the chance."

"That _thing_ was wearing my face," Art interjected exasperatedly. He stepped backwards with his hands raised, still clearly frightened. "I—I need to go back to my family. Thank you for your help, miss. For believing me."

"You're welcome, Art," Howard replied with a nod and a smile.

Danse finally lowered his weapon. Howard might have picked the synth, but that didn't mean that other man was necessarily trustworthy. "That was dangerous, soldier," he said. "You didn't even pull out your pistol."

Howard crossed her arms. "They wouldn't have felt at ease if I was pointing my gun at them."

"You would have been safer," he replied.

Howard snorted. "I'm traversing the Commonwealth looking for a deadly assassin," she said. " _Safety_ is not a priority."

"It's always a priority," Danse protested.

Dogmeat barked from further down the road, tail wagging rapidly.

"He's picked up Kellogg's scent again," Nick said.

"Good," Howard replied. "Let's get going."

She followed Dogmeat without giving Danse a second look. He exhaled sharply through his nose, mostly out of bewilderment. He never thought he would have to admit that Howard's tactics had been… _effective_. Her insistence on non-violence and her sharpness actually helped get results.

Yet if she kept throwing herself into situations like that without even bothering to carry her weapon, she was going to get herself _killed_ rather than getting results.

* * *

After the incident with the synth, Dogmeat led Addison and her companions even further west. Kellogg had been injured, and his trail of bloody rags and Dogmeat's sharp senses led them exactly where he was last.

Addison wished they had not encountered Art. _Both_ of them. It hadn't felt right—stepping aside so that someone who looked so _real_ could be killed.

But then there was the chilling thought that the Art-synth had been _manufactured_ for the sole purpose of replacing another human being. The synth had one goal and one goal only. He clearly could not be trusted to just go along his way or return to the Institute.

Why did the Institute have this nefarious agenda? What did they gain from replacing perfectly innocent humans with their robots? What had they gained from kidnapping Shaun?

Maybe Kellogg would have some answers for them, if he truly had any connection to the Institute. What she hoped for more strongly than anything was that he had Shaun. It was probably foolish to wish for that, but still with all her heart she wanted her son back.

Dogmeat led them further down the road, to a cluster of shops that included a Red Rocket Truck Stop. Largest of all was a tall brick building that looked like it had been battened down and occupied. The front was accented with red metal panels and old American banners.

"That's Fort Hagen," Nick said, as Dogmeat galloped ahead and then ran up the stairs to the entrance. He turned to look over at them with his head cocked slightly and tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Addison hurried after him and heard Nick behind her.

"I knew Dogmeat would sniff our man out," he said, as she knelt down beside him and rubbed his ears.

Danse clopped up beside them. "This entrance is sealed," he remarked. "If you think Kellogg is here, we will need to find another way in."

Addison stood. "Do you have any suggestions?"

Danse craned his neck up. "The roof will likely have some sort of door or perhaps ventilation system we could drop in through."

"I think I saw some scaffolding on the side of the building," Addison said. "Let's check there." She slipped past them both, and she vaguely heard Danse make some warning about external security. She was mostly ignoring him because she was too distracted by the prospect of finding Shaun. She would have barreled right through the front door if she was strong enough.

Addison started up the wood plank incline of the scaffolding, crouching slightly before she heard Danse behind her.

"Pistol, Howard."

She threw him an insulted look, but did reach back and pull out her gun. The scaffolding creaked under their total weight. Addison in front, Danse behind her as close as he could be, and Nick and Dogmeat following behind. Dogmeat seemed to like Nick much better than Danse, which did not surprise her. Dogmeat was normally good at reading people.

Addison hopped onto the roof. She was on a narrow strip beside the top floor of the building—she was hoping as she rounded the corner that she would find some old metal door. Instead, she heard the click and whir of metal gears.

Addison looked up, squinting in the sun, before she was shoved bodily backwards. She staggered backwards and then onto her ass, the shock shooting straight up her spine.

The rapid clip of _bullets_ rang out around her, not against the brick, but against metal. After a few seconds, she heard Danse's laser rifle being fired.

Addison looked up and was surprised to see him so close to her. His armor was completely blocking her view. She could smell the grease he used on his power armor.

"Soldier, you _have_ to pay more attention!"

"What…" She accepted Danse's arm as he extended it to her. "What's wrong?"

Danse gave her an irritated look and turned his body. There was a smoking pile of metal above them.

"Active turrets," he said. "There are probably more around the roof."

"You…" Addison shifted on her feet. Her elbow was bleeding from falling. "You kept me from getting shot."

Danse furrowed his brow. "I'm wearing more than 100 pounds of well-made steel armor. It can sustain bullets much better than-," He inspected her. "That…jumpsuit."

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"I'm fine, Howard," Danse replied. "Just be more careful next time." He looked around the roof. "We should get moving."

"Wait," Addison said. "Let me—thank you. I mean, you saved my life."

As usual, Danse was unsettled by her sentiment. "I am your superior officer, Howard. And a member of the Brotherhood of Steel. It is my duty to do these things."

Addison supposed his reasons for his actions weren't important. He'd thrown his body in front of a hailstorm of bullets to protect her. Maybe because of his frustrating principles or just _maybe_ because he was starting to value her at least a little.

"We make a good team, I think," she remarked with a small smile.

Danse grunted. "Perhaps," he said. "I will lead now. Watch out for more turrets."

Addison tightened her grip on her pistol. "Yes, Paladin."

Danse lumbered around the corner without another word, and Nick hopped onto the roof when there was room for him. "Glad you're alright," he said, then his eyes flicked over to Danse. "I _almost_ like your tin can friend for what he did."

Addison smiled slightly. " _Almost_."


	6. Chapter 6

Howard's pistol was small, so the entire weapon shook from the tremors in her hands the further they traveled into Fort Hagen. Danse could not decide if she was frightened or angry. The looming confrontation with her husband's killer was certainly a spark big enough to incite rage even in someone like her. And the anticipation of finding out what had happened to her son was not a calming addition to her mental state.

Kellogg spoke to them periodically over the fort's intercom. Danse ignored the messages because this man's taunting would not distract him from their task. Eventually, they broke through line after line of synth and stopped at a heavy metal door that led to the control room where Kellogg was hiding out.

Howard refilled the clip of her 10mm. "I want to go in first," she said.

"I understand you want answers from Kellogg," Danse replied. "But perhaps-,"

She turned to look at him. "You have been very helpful as a companion up until this point, Danse. You've had my back, and for that, I am thankful. But I have to go in first. I have to talk to Kellogg."

He exhaled through his nose. They'd had enough arguments already. "Be careful."

Addison nodded once to him, then looked behind him and gave the same signal to Nick and Dogmeat. She pushed open the door with her shoulder.

The control room was large and shrouded in shadow. Danse could make out the faint outline of computer terminals and debris on the ground. As soon as they stepped inside, the industrial lights above their heads began clicking on, starting at the back of the room, until the entire space was bathed in light.

A group of synths emerged from behind the computers, and Danse raised his rifle, though they kept their weapons at their side. Leading them was a bald man in a white shirt and leather jacket. He had the scar that Howard had spoken of when she was in Diamond City.

Kellogg had both his hands raised in a placating gesture. "And there she is. The most resilient woman in the Commonwealth."

Howard was frozen in front of him for a few moments—probably shocked at seeing her husband's murderer again. Her eyes were glassy as she spoke.

"What have you done with my son?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

He had a glib grin on his face. "Your son, Shaun. Great kid. A little older than you might have expected, but I'm guessing you figured that out by now."

Every single muscle in her body tensed then, like she was trying to keep herself from attacking him. Her brow furrowed deeply, and a single tear escaped from her eye that she did not bother to wipe away.

"I won't ask you again," she said, voice stronger now.

Kellogg let his hands fall to his side. "If you're hoping for a happy reunion, it ain't gonna happen. He's not here."

Howard grit her teeth hard. "Then where is he?"

"What's the cliché?" he began. "So close, yet so far away? That's Shaun."

Howard's arm shot up, her pistol pointed directly at his chest as she lurched forward. "Stop playing games with me!"

Kellogg stepped back, but did not seem alarmed. "You can't get any information from me if you kill me," he pointed out. "So why don't you put the gun down, little lady?"

Howard was not little. Above average height, at least. Perhaps he was trying to demean her? She did not respond to it either way. Instead she narrowed her eyes in a tense silence before she lowered her pistol.

"Don't worry," Kellogg said. "You'll die knowing Shaun is safe, and happy. In a loving home. The Institute."

"How do I get there?" she demanded.

Kellogg shook his head. "Haven't you been paying attention? You don't find the Institute. The Institute finds _you_."

"Then I will _make_ them find me," she replied.

Kellogg gave a soft snort. "That's the spirit," he said, then he looked her up and down. "You know, you surprise me, I have to admit. I find myself actually kind of…liking you."

Danse held his rifle tight despite the huff of frustration that rolled through him. Even people Howard hunted down to _kill_ admitted to liking her. What the hell kind of charm did she have that worked like that?

Howard's scowl thinned. "You murdered my husband."

"I admire your dedication to your family," he said. "Even if it is ultimately useless." He inspected the barrel of his pistol—a .44 from what Danse could see. "I think we've been talking long enough. We both know how this has to end. You ready?"

"Nothing will keep me from finding my son," she replied. "Especially not you."

The minute the synth in his line of sight began to move, Danse fired his rifle. Once in the head of each synth surrounding Kellogg, and they collapsed in a pile of metal on the ground.

Danse needed to pay attention to Howard in the chaos, he knew that. Bullets and flashes of blue light surrounded them, and she could be killed in one quick second and be of no use to the Brotherhood.

Howard had pulled out her gun, and he hoped she knew to aim for Kellogg's head. Close enough, she might be able to get in a good shot.

Instead, he saw her fire in the direction of his torso. Danse would have been annoyed if they were not in the middle of combat.

"Howard, _cover_!" he ordered, and she hurried to duck behind the computer terminal while they both fired at Kellogg.

It was again Dogmeat who proved to be the most useful. He bounded over to Kellogg and sunk his sharp teeth into his unarmored bicep, pulling him to the ground and giving Danse a chance to fire his rifle.

Blood spattered everywhere from a wound on his head, including in an arc on the rusted panel of the computer beside him. Kellogg's lifeless body rolled to one side afterwards.

Howard stood in the abrupt silence following the end of the fight, gun still drawn, and approached his body. She was bleeding from her shoulder, but otherwise looked unharmed.

"Good job," Nick said as he joined them. "That bastard won't be hurting anyone else."

Danse frowned slightly at Howard. "You should have aimed for his head first before you…" He stopped when he saw a crumpled metal box near Kellogg's hand. "Is that a Stealth Boy?"

Howard crouched down beside his body and rolled him onto his back. "It is, Danse."

"You…" He shifted. "You shot it to prevent him from using it."

"He would have been much harder to kill if he were invisible," she murmured, remaining mostly focused on searching Kellogg's body.

Danse probably should have said _good thinking_ to her, but Nick had gotten on one knee to help her with some of Kellogg's tech.

"Your son really is on the inside," Nick said. "Even _I_ don't know where the Institute is, and they built me."

"I find that hard to believe," Danse remarked with a scowl.

Howard stood, her expression mostly blank. The fight had obviously taken a lot out of her. "If Nick says he doesn't know anything about the Institute, I believe him. But there _has_ to be a way in."

Nick sighed and rubbed the place right under his hat. "We're in the weeds here, kid. It's time to take a step back. Bring in some fresh eyes."

"Who can we trust?" Howard asked.

"The only person I know willing to snoop up the Institute's tail feathers is Piper. I say we talk to her," Nick suggested.

Howard nodded. "Good idea. We should head there now."

Danse raised his arm. "Hold up there, soldier. You emptied every bullet you've got into Kellogg and these synths. We need to resupply at the police station."

"He has a point, for once," Nick said. "No point in you running around the Commonwealth without supplies. If he's got them for free, I suggest you go there."

"I'll come to Diamond City as soon as I can," she replied. "Thanks for your help, Nick. It means a lot."

"Anytime," Nick said. "Now, chin up. I know the night just got darker, but it won't last forever."

She gave a weak attempt at a smile. "I certainly hope not."

Nick dipped his hat in her direction and gave Dogmeat a pat on the head before he exited through the security door on the left side of the room.

Once he was gone, Howard stared down at Kellogg's lifeless body. Her jaw was clenched tight.

Danse lowered his rifle to his side in the silence. This was dangerous emotional territory, and he was not sure how to respond.

"You did good work, soldier," he said.

She wiped the heel of her palm along her eye. "In the Vault, Kellogg shot Nate without a second thought. I thought killing him in return would…I don't know—be more _satisfying_." She threw her hand up. "It didn't bring Nate back. As badly as I wanted it to."

"I know it might seem meaningless now, but you're one step closer to finding your son," he said. "The Institute."

"Not close enough," she said. Her throat tightened as she swallowed. "We should go."

Danse watched her walk away, shoulders hunched slightly and her shadow disappearing from the ring of light in the control room. He wished he had more to say, but new initiates rarely showed emotion like she did.

He wished he had known that when he first offered Howard a place in the Brotherhood, he would be very unequipped to deal with her.

* * *

When Danse and Addison exited Fort Hagen, it was pitch black out. They emerged on the roof, and Addison climbed down the scaffolding to the ground, while Danse followed her.

She heard the click of Danse's headlamp after they reached the front of the building, and light flooded the road in front of her.

"Soldier-,"

"I'm fine," Addison interjected, even as her voice had a tearful wobble to it.

"Stop, Initiate," he said. "That's an order."

Addison gave a frustrated huff and did as he asked, her heels skidding in the gravel. "What?" she said, through gritted teeth.

"You need to get some rest," Danse replied, then he gestured sideways to the Red Rocket Truck Stop. "We'll stop here for the night."

Addison looked out along the shadowy road; she didn't feel scared about the darkness like she used to, just numb. Her shoulders lowered. "Alright," she murmured.

She followed Danse under the destroyed awning and then into the shop. He stopped in the doorway.

"I'll patrol the perimeter," he said.

"Will you wake me up after a few hours?" she asked. "I want you to get some rest too."

"We will see," Danse replied.

Addison did not argue with him further—he disappeared into the darkness, and she clicked on the light on her Pip-Boy. She unfurled her sleeping bag, but instead of crawling into it, she sat with her knees to her chest. Dogmeat trotted over and curled up beside her in his customary spot; he was soon asleep and breathing loudly through his wet nose while Addison merely stared at the wall.

When Kellogg had first mentioned Shaun, she felt as if she might burst. Someone—someone _else_ had seen her son. Here in the Commonwealth. The thought that he was alive somewhere made her heart clench because for so long the thought of finding him was merely a far-fetched dream. She hadn't even known if he was alive, and now she did. He was alive in the Institute, and she was _going_ to find him.

Addison had seen Kellogg's face every night since leaving the Vault. In her nightmares, she imagined him peering into her cryo-pod over and over again after he'd shot Nate. Shot Nate without even being sorry about it.

Addison pressed her heels into her eyes until the tears broke through and saturated her face. She was glad Danse was outside patrolling rather than inside watching her crumple into a pathetic, trembling ball.

Eventually, she collapsed against the wall with her head lolled to one side as she fell asleep.

She dreamed about her final moments in the Vault that night—when she was conscious, just after the bombs fell. The scientists they met had thrust jumpsuits into their hands and led them to a row of pods. _Decontamination_ , they said.

Addison was suspicious, but shocked. Before they had been lowered into the Vault, they'd seen the bomb drop on Boston. A bright cloud that shook the ground under their feet and sent terror ripping through her. It had all happened so fast she could hardly process that the world was falling apart around them.

She had turned to inspect the pod, but Shaun started crying. His feeble whimpers echoed through the metal room, and Addison quickly turned to him.

"I think Shaun wants his mom," Nate said softly, and he stepped closer to her while she leaned over him. Nate's brow was puckered and speckled with sweat—he was scared, too, but would stay strong for his family. He'd had enough training in the military to stay calm in the face of adversity. She was trying to do the same.

Addison gave a small smile. "Who's my little guy?" she cooed, and then ran the tip of her finger across her little cheek. She would never forget how soft his skin was. "I'm not going far. I'll just be over here."

Shaun turned and looked up at her with his dark eyes. He blinked, his remaining tears leaving as he settled down and made a gurgling noise.

"You think he's okay?" she asked Nate.

Addison raised her head to look at him, always struck by his handsomeness. A blue-eyed, golden-haired collegiate athlete who'd skated through life because of his wealth.

"Everything will be fine," Nate assured her with a small smile. He leaned closer and gently kissed her. "I promise."

Nate had not kept his promise. Nate had died because of Kellogg. Because he was trying to protect their son. _He_ was the one in the military; he knew how to use the weapons that were thrust into _her_ hands. His service in the Army had been a purely political move arranged by his father, but the training was still grueling. He learned valuable skills while she sat at home pretending they were trying to start a family.

It hurt more than anything that Nate was not around. She was the only parent left—the only person capable of saving Shaun.

And she was so unequipped to do it.

Addison awoke at dawn in a panic because of her dream. She was plagued by thoughts of failure—if one bullet hit her in the right place, she'd be dead and unable to save Shaun. There was danger around every corner, and it could end her quest in the blink of an eye. She had to learn to survive in this place if she wanted to save Shaun.

Addison scrambled up from her sleeping bag and hurried over to the door. Early-morning light was falling across the floor, and a thin layer of fog hung on the ground. She could not see Danse, but she heard the clanking of his armor as he walked around.

"Danse!"

Addison jogged around the corner and saw him standing with his rifle raised.

"Howard, what is it?" he demanded. "What's wrong?"

She ran up to him and put her hand on his armor. "I need you to teach me," she blurted out. "Please. I know you have no patience for me, but-,"

"Teach you what?" he asked incredulously.

Addison gestured to his gun. " _This_. The aiming and the combat moves and the whole not sucking at being a soldier thing."

"That's not really something you can learn all at once," Danse remarked.

She shook her head. "Alright, then let's start," she said. "I can't—I can't die before I find Shaun. I'm his only hope, and he's mine."

Danse nodded. "You don't have to ask this, Howard. I'm your superior officer, and I have to train you as a part of my duties."

"Well—well, good," she said. "Because I think I need it."

"You absolutely do," Danse replied. "Are you ready to get moving?"

Addison huffed because he could have been at least a _little_ more complimentary. "Yeah. Let me just get my sleeping bag."

She gathered her things and retrieved Dogmeat, and then Danse led her in the direction of the Cambridge Police Station. Her shoulder was throbbing in pain, and her eyes felt swollen from crying, but otherwise she was well-rested. She had expected Danse to wake her to help patrol the truck stop, but he'd let her sleep almost the entire night.

They trekked down the road in silence for most of the morning. Eventually, the road crossed with the railroad tracks. The space was littered with box cars and their decaying cargo.

Danse stopped. "I have an idea," he said.

"What-,"

"Follow me."

Addison gave him an odd look as he set off towards one of the box cars. She eventually trotted after him and her brow rose when he stepped out of his power armor.

"Quickly," he ordered, and he gestured to the metal rungs on the side of the box car.

"What about Dogmeat?" she asked, and Dogmeat's ears perked up at the mention of his name.

Danse had an annoyed pucker in his brow. "He will be fine on the ground."

She frowned. "Danse-,"

He relented quicker than she expected and threw up his hands in defeat. " _Fine_. We will take your canine companion."

Addison stepped back when Danse moved towards her. "I only want to make sure he's-,"

He ignored her and picked Dogmeat up with one arm wrapped around his middle. Dogmeat gave a chuff of surprise, but did not fight him.

Danse began climbing the rungs up the boxcar with one arm, still toting Dogmeat like he was only as heavy as a wet rag.

"Danse, be careful!" she exclaimed.

Dogmeat seemed alright, and leapt out of Danse's arms onto the roof, his paws clicking against its metal top. Addison began to climb the ladder herself, considering on her short way up informing Danse that he did not have to be so _brutish_.

Addison climbed over the lip and stood. "What are we doing?" she asked. "Why did you leave your armor?"

"It's too heavy for me to stand up here," Danse said.

She cocked her head. "And what is it we're doing on top of this thing?"

Danse did not answer her, and instead stamped his foot against the tin top of the box car. The sound was loud, booming through the empty space below them and across the road.

As the echo faded, Addison heard shifting from below them, and the familiar gurgling of feral ghouls.

"Danse," she said urgently, and almost reached for his arm until she realized he didn't have his armor on. "Danse, you can't make noise like this!"

"Railyards are hotbeds for ferals," Danse remarked. "They won't be able to reach us."

"And you wanted to leave my _dog_ down there?" she demanded.

Danse made an exasperated sound. "He's fine now," he said, then he began rummaging through his pocket for a fusion cell. "Reload your rifle."

Addison did as he asked, letting the empty cell clack to the ground as more ferals lumbered forward. "This is practice, isn't it?"

"Yes," Danse said. "But we won't get out of here unless you actually kill the ferals."

One of the ferals noticed them and slammed its body into the boxcar. It was unable to reach them, of course. Addison made a frightened sound, and Dogmeat growled beside her.

"Sorry, _sorry_ ," she said immediately. "Ferals are—I don't…"

He turned to face her. "You cannot be _frightened_ , Howard."

"I'm sorry," she repeated exasperatedly. "What am I supposed to say? The scariest thing about my life before the war was the potential threat of petty thievery or committing a social faux pas at a party." She threw her hand out. "The only thing I was _ever_ allowed to do was be a mother who went to the grocery store and attended parties and raised a child. And now…"

Danse leaned closer to her. "You don't live in that world anymore," he said with a scowl. "And if you ever want to be a mother again and find Shaun, you need to toughen up."

Anger lashed through her, and Addison clenched her jaw. Her eyes bore into his for a few seconds before she turned and fired her rifle into the small group of ferals groaning and swinging their decaying arms upward.

"I _am_ tough," she snapped once she'd fired a handful of shots. "My aim just isn't very good."

"And your technique is terrible."

Addison glared at him, but he seemed unperturbed by his honesty. "Watch me," he ordered, as he fired at the ferals approaching them with much more precision.

"You need to stay calm and take the time to aim your weapon," he said. "You hold your rifle too low and fire too many rounds in quick succession."

He stopped and studied her with a thoughtful look. "Perhaps you should be using a different weapon."

Addison sighed. "I already told you a mini-gun was too heavy."

"What about a shotgun?" he suggested. "There is less accuracy involved and-,"

"No," she said with a wave of her hand. "No shotgun. I'm not—good with those."

Danse reloaded his rifle. "They're not difficult to use, as long as you learn how to brace yourself for the recoil."

He paused and lifted his head. He was studying her face more closely than he ever had.

"What?" she asked.

"Your nose has been broken recently," he remarked. "It's crooked, and there is still some bruising. You hit yourself in the face with a shotgun after firing it, didn't you?"

Addison huffed, cheeks red. "I—God, _yes_ , okay? It was right after I left the Vault, and it was embarrassing and Piper found it _hilarious_ -," Her jaw dropped slightly. "Are you _smiling_?"

Danse cleared his throat before what sounded like a small laugh escaped him. "I apologize, soldier, but it is…somewhat humorous to imagine."

She rolled her eyes. "Great. The first time you _ever_ smile is at my expense."

"You will learn how to handle weapons effectively," Danse assured her. "And I will find a weapon to better suit your style."

Addison turned back to face the ferals. She saw one in the distance slowly rising up, torso first. She braced her rifle against her shoulder and closed one eye.

She fired a shot that vibrated through the gun. A flash of red burst from the barrel and collided with the feral's shoulder.

"Not bad," Danse remarked.

"Well it's a lot easier to shoot things when they're not in your face trying to bite you," Addison replied.

Dogmeat peered over the edge of the roof and growled at the feral on the ground. Addison pointed her rifle at it and fired again.

She tightened her grip. "I wouldn't have made it through Fort Hagen without you."

"I realize that, Howard," he replied. "You are a member of my team now, so I came with you."

Addison lowered her gun to her side. "You followed me into a well-armed building filled with synths, even though I apparently do nothing but annoy you because—because of your _principles_?"

"Brotherhood principles define how I live my life," Danse replied. "It makes me a better soldier." He searched the area below them. "It seems as if we got them all. We should go."

"Well-,"

Danse turned away from her and walked back over to the metal rungs along the edge of the boxcar. Dogmeat scurried over to him and poked his head over the edge again.

"Don't forget to-,"

She stopped and gasped in horror when Dogmeat leapt to the ground of his own volition. Addison ran after him and saw him trotting around in the dirt where Danse was jumping down, unharmed.

"Dogmeat!" she exclaimed.

Danse looked up at her. "He's fine. You could learn a thing or two about toughness from your pet."

"That's not funny!" Addison said with a huff.

He cocked his head. "I wasn't joking, Howard."

He turned back to his power armor, and Addison made another frustrated sound. Danse was more like a complicated math equation than he was a person. Either way, she could not figure him out.


	7. Chapter 7

Addison and Danse returned to the police station by the end of the day. He disappeared fairly quickly, bent on sending further communications to his superiors through the radio tower. Apparently he'd been able to contact them because he spent most of his time over the next few days holed up in that area.

In the morning, Addison was cleaning out her pistol and heard a loud train of _thumps_ above her. She lifted her head in time to see Danse appear in the stairwell that led upstairs.

"I have good news, Howard," he announced.

She turned in her chair. "You're going to stop running in that power armor and making so much noise?"

He ignored her quip, as usual. "Follow me."

Addison stood and began trailing behind him towards the door. "What are we doing this time?" she asked.

Danse crossed the threshold to the outside, stopping on the concrete platform leading up to the police station. She exhaled sharply.

"Danse, you have got to start answering my questions instead of just-,"

He pointed to the sky. "I wanted to show you _this_ , Howard."

Addison craned her neck up and spotted a massive airship high above them. It was a monstrosity of metal, surrounded by smaller Vertibirds like the ones used before the war.

"God, what is that?" she asked.

Danse furrowed his brow, offended. "You don't know?"

"I've only been in the Commonwealth a few weeks," she reminded him.

That did not change his expression. "Still, you should be familiar with the Brotherhood's assets. We call that ship the Prydwen. It's our airborne military base. A masterwork, loaded with enough troops and supplies to mount a major offensive."

"So you've actually been _in_ that thing?"

He nodded. "I was stationed there for years," he said.

Addison crossed her arms. "Where exactly does the Brotherhood plan on putting such a large ship?"

"They are docking at the Boston Airport," Danse explained. "Once the ground troops have cleared the area."

"I suppose this is good news for you," Addison remarked.

He turned to face her. "It's good news for _you_ , too," he said. "If the Prydwen is here, that means Elder Maxson is here. And that means we're going to war. There's a Vertibird en route to transport us to the ship as soon as it docks."

"Us?" she began incredulously.

"Absolutely," Danse replied. "Elder Maxson has asked to meet you, and I think there could be a promotion on the table for all the help you've given us. Some power armor, too."

Addison turned away from him and looked back up at the sky. _Power armor_. God, if there's anything she needed, that was it. A suit to protect herself from all the enemies she encountered.

"I should really get back to Diamond City," she murmured.

Danse frowned slightly. "Howard, you've got to begin prioritizing your commitment to the Brotherhood." His eyes flicked over to her. "It will be worth your while in the end. You said yourself you needed more training before you continue to look for your son."

"I…" She sighed. "I suppose you have a point."

"Good," he said. "I will confirm our travel plans while you gather your things."

Danse turned before she could even reply and disappeared through the door. Addison stared up at the Prydwen for a little longer, watching as it grew smaller and headed in the direction of Boston.

She heard the door creak open again and turned, expecting Danse. Instead, Rhys stood before her with his characteristic scowl.

Addison gave a small smile. "Good morning, Rhys."

"Oh, cut the crap," he snapped in reply, and Addison shook her head.

"Fine," she said. "Do you have a problem then?"

"I do," he replied as he folded his arms over his chest. "My problem is I can't figure you out."

She cocked her eyebrow. "I can assure you I'm not that complicated."

"And yet you came here out of the blue, took down a few ferals, and now you're all _buddy-buddy_ with Paladin Danse," he said.

Addison snorted. "That is very far from the truth."

He stepped closer to her. "To be honest, Howard, I don't care about your opinion on the matter," he said. "I don't know if you're serious about being in the Brotherhood, or if you're just biding your time waiting for whatever it is you're looking for."

"I'm serious about being here," Addison insisted, as untrue as that felt.

"You're different," he said. "You're a loner. You got what you wanted, so why don't you hit the road?"

Addison pursed her lips. Part of her wanted to antagonize this entirely too paranoid man, but instead she pushed her hair behind her ear. "I have no interest in leaving, so you should get used to me being around."

"We'll see about that," he remarked bitterly, before he spun on his heel and left.

Addison's neck snapped up again at the sound of massive rotor blades and the roar of an engine. A Vertibird similar to the ones she saw around the Prywden was flying overhead, but slowing behind her as it attempted to dock on the roof of the police station.

She decided it was best to hurry inside and begin packing her things—Danse would hate it if she weren't ready to board the Vertibird as soon as possible. Surely he was eager to get to the Brotherhood's base since his service to them was all he seemed to care about. Though Rhys seemed to think that Danse appreciated her more than she originally thought.

Once her Stimpaks and ammunition were stored neatly in her knapsack, she slung it around her shoulder and retrieved her pistol from the weapons bench. Danse appeared in the stairwell again, continuing his streak of excessive loudness.

"Come on, solider!"

Addison by no means sprinted over, but did try to increase her pace to appease him. They hiked up the set of stairs that led to the roof, and Danse pried the metal door open.

The Vertibird's rotors were still spinning rapidly and sending dust swirling all around them. Her unbound hair blew across her face, and she tried to push it from her eyes while moving forward.

Danse let her climb in first. She secured her foot on the landing skid just below the opening in the cock pit and then grabbed the wall to hoist herself up. She tumbled inside just as Danse followed her and shook the whole vehicle because of his power armor.

Danse made some gesture with his hand and the cockpit began to jiggle and vibrate violently as the pilot lifted them into the air. Addison clung to her seat, but still tried to peer outside as they rose higher and higher in the air.

The destruction took her breath away. All she could manage was a feeble _oh_ that no one could hear as her eyes swept across the desolate landscape. Hardly any buildings remained intact. The parks that once dosed the city with festive sprigs of green were now barren and brown like everything else. Her well-manicured world had been ground brutally down into nothing but glass, concrete and dirt.

"The Commonwealth looks different from up here," Danse remarked from beside her.

"Different," she repeated in a mutter. That wasn't even the right world. It was foreign. A different place, a different dimension. Hardly her home anymore.

"It never ceases to amaze me how drastically your perception of the battlefield changes from the air," Danse added, and Addison resisted the urge to roll her eyes because this man seemed to make _everything_ about fighting and the Brotherhood.

They flew in silence to Boston, passing underneath the airport and the gently rolling waves of water around it. She adjusted her position to see the Prydwen coming into view.

"There she is," Danse said. "It's been far too long since I've been abroad."

Addison looked over at him—she could have sworn that Danse was almost smiling. About a giant metal ship. _That's_ apparently what brought this man happiness.

The Vertibird was docked on the Flight Deck, quite bumpily. Danse exited first and hopped down onto the metal platform. Addison followed him more slowly, but he waited for her.

"We'll be meeting Lancer Captain Kells on the Flight Deck," Danse said. "Just stay close to me and answer all his questions."

"I can do that," Addison said.

They walked down the platform together, than up a few steps to a man in a crisp Brotherhood uniform. The brim of his hat partially obscured his serious gaze.

"Welcome back, Paladin," the man said. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on a successful mission."

"Thank you, Captain," Danse replied.

His gaze turned to her. "Is this our new recruit?"

"Nice to meet you," she said, as she extended her hand to him. "I'm Addison Howard."

Lancer Captain Kells gave her a skeptical look and did not return her gesture of greeting. "Or…nevermind," Addison said awkwardly as her hand dropped to her side.

Danse remained stoic, despite the fact that he was probably peeved inside that power armor of his. "I've field promoted Howard to Initiate, and I'd like to sponsor her entry into our ranks personally."

Kells nodded. "Yes, we've read your reports. You'll be pleased to know that Elder Maxson has approved your request and placed the recruit in your charge."

"Thank you, sir."

Addison gave Danse a confused look. He wanted to sponsor _her_ entry higher into the Brotherhood? Did he have some sliver of confidence in her ability that he had no mentioned?

She was not sure how she felt about the matter. Being in Danse's _charge_ could go poorly if he did not let her try and find Shaun as quickly as she wanted. She did not have time to say anything because Kells was looking at her now.

"You don't look like much of a soldier," he remarked.

"Looks can be deceiving," she replied brightly.

His mouth tightened. "Which is precisely why I personally insist on scrutinizing every recruit who boards this vessel." He seemed to relent slightly. "I've read Paladin Danse's reports. He seems to think you'll be a fine addition to the Brotherhood."

Her brow wrinkled. "He…does?"

"You might expect an endorsement like that to grant you a great deal of latitude with us, but let me make one thing clear," Kells said. "As the captain of this vessel, I won't allow anyone to jeopardize our mission no matter how valuable they think they are. Understood?"

"That shouldn't be a problem," Addison assured him.

"Good," Kells replied. "Your orders are to proceed to the Command Deck for the address, after which Elder Maxson wishes to have a word with you."

He saluted her with his fist across his chest, and Addison hurried to replicate him. Her form was sloppy at best.

"Move along, soldier," Danse said as he turned slightly. Addison followed him across the platform and to the door leading to the inside of the airship.

He stopped and looked down at her before he pulled open the door. "This is the moment where everything changes," he said. "I hope you're ready."

Addison rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Is this your way of telling me to behave?"

"No," he replied. "Though you _should_."

"Duly noted," she said.

Danse nodded curtly to her with that stoic face of his. He walked through the threshold, and she hesitated before following him.

Addison knew she would not operate well in this military environment. She was too soft and polite. And too desperate to find Shaun to follow orders as well as she normally did.

Danse would regret sponsoring her entrance into the ranks, she was confident of that.

* * *

To Danse, being on the Prydwen felt like being at _home_. He was surrounded by like-minded individuals who valued the Brotherhood's contributions to the Commonwealth. It brought him comfort he hadn't had in months since he began Gladius' recon mission.

Maybe that's why he was nervous about officially bringing Howard into the ranks. She was not like other members of the Brotherhood. Hell, she wasn't really like anyone else in the Commonwealth either. They had grown up in completely different worlds, and now she lived in one where she was not equipped to survive. He hoped he didn't look like a fool bringing her here.

Danse was walking down the hall from Ingram's workshop when he spotted Howard's blue jumpsuit. She darted between ambling suits of power armor and stopped upon reaching him.

"There you are," Danse said. "How did it go with Elder Maxson?"

"I behaved, if you're worried," she replied. "And I was promoted to the rank of Knight."

"I suspected that would happen after I filed my report," he said. "Congratulations."

She shook her head. "I don't understand why you said such complimentary things about me."

"I do not give compliments," he replied with a skeptical look. "My reports are factual assessments of your ability to contribute to the Brotherhood."

Howard gave a small huff. "Well then I'm surprised that you had any positive facts to share after how little faith you seem to have in me. I'm not sure I understand."

"There's nothing to understand, soldier," he said. "You possess a degree of intelligence and knowledge that will be valuable to the Brotherhood. For now, your determination to find the Institute and locate your son align with our goals quite well."

"Thanks, Danse," she replied.

"Of course, that is notwithstanding your inability to operate competently in combat. Your reticence to follow orders. The fact that you-,"

She gave him that ridiculous, courteous smile of hers. "I appreciate your input, Paladin."

He finished his list anyway. "The fact that you are far too _polite_."

"I liked your other facts better," she replied with a snort.

"Howard, I certainly hope you appreciate how much of a chance I'm taking bringing you into the fold this quickly," he replied while he crossed his arms. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but if you screw up, we go down together."

"That's…a little intimidating," she muttered, then her eyes rose to his. "I'll certainly try my best, Danse. I don't want to let you down as my—er, sponsor. Whatever that is."

"Elder Maxson is understandably particular when it comes to new recruits," Danse explained. "He believes that in order for the Brotherhood to remain strong, we have to bond as brothers. As your sponsor, it is my duty to travel with you throughout the Commonwealth to ensure that our ideals are being observed."

"As long as you're _also_ travelling with me to stand in front of us and draw fire towards that tin can of yours, that sounds great" she replied, her lip curling up slightly.

Danse furrowed his brow, and she raised her hand before he could speak.

"Right—no jokes," she said. "I only meant to express how much I appreciate you coming along with me."

"I'm merely following Elder Maxson's direct orders," Danse replied.

"Maxson seems so young," Howard said. "Yet everyone still seems pretty loyal to him. Are you okay with that?"

Danse shook his head. "Don't let his age fool you," he said. "Maxson's a brilliant tactician, a formidable warrior, and possesses an idealistic vision for the future of the Brotherhood. I'd follow him anywhere, without question."

Her eyebrow rose. "I guess I should not be surprised by that."

"I expect you to follow Maxson with the same level of dedication," Danse said. "As well as with the other high-ranking members of this crew. If you have time, I will introduce you to them."

"Maybe they'll like my jokes more than you," Howard replied cheerfully.

Danse did not reply because he doubted that was true.

Still, introducing her to the others took _far_ longer than he imagined it would. Howard had so many questions and polite conversations—he stood by listening to too much damn talking on her part. She seemed _genuinely_ interested in Proctor Quinlan's work and his technical documents. She answered all of Knight-Captain Cade's medical questions and then took the time to ask him how he was feeling. Proctor Teagan told her that he was really starting to _like_ her, which bothered Danse for some reason.

Danse was confident when they entered Proctor Ingram's workshop that Howard would not be so successful with her. Ingram was hardened and did not put up with nonsense. She would not tolerate Howard's incessant niceties.

Ingram was at one of the power armor bays with a tool in hand. Howard walked over to her, and she stopped.

"Hello Proctor Ingram," she said. "I'm Addison Howard. It's nice to meet you."

Ingram's eyes scanned her up and down with a skeptical look once she had turned. "So you're the new recruit I heard about?" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Not what I was expecting."

Howard shrunk slightly. "Most people have been saying that, but-"

She dropped her tools on the table beside her. "Let's just get this over with," she said. "My name's Ingram and this lovely little grease pit is where you'll usually find me." She gestured beside her. "If your power armor is too tight in the crotch, the Prydwen's about to crash into the ground, or a robot's gone haywire, you come see me."

"Sounds like you've got a full plate," Howard remarked.

"Very full," she said, then she looked down at her own set of power armor. Ingram had lost both her legs and used her suit to maintain her mobility. She had an admirable level of dedication to the Brotherhood. "Since I'm stuck in this rig, I'm not quite as spry as I used to be. The work piles up."

"I hardly noticed," Howard replied.

Ingram's brow wrinkled under her messy mop of hair. "I can't tell if you're patronizing me or trying to be polite."

"She's trying to be polite," Danse interjected hurriedly. He should have known Ingram would have been the person Howard crossed the line with and offended.

Howard stepped forward. "I apologize if I offended you, Proctor Ingram," she began. "I only said that because—well, I can imagine that some days it feels like your situation is _all_ people see. If I were in your pace, I might…well, I might want to be treated like I'd been before."

Ingram's hardened expression relaxed. "I…suppose that's true."

"If you don't mind my asking, what happened?" Howard asked. "Most people in your position, without your strength, would have just given up."

Ingram shifted and made a slightly exasperated noise. "Sure, what the hell," she said. "I was fighting with the Brotherhood in the Capital Wasteland. Our position was on a ridgeline overlooking the battlefield. The ridge took a hit from a nuke. Sheered most of the cliff right off and caused the platform I was standing on to tumble over the side. If I hadn't been test piloting one of the power armor suits at the time, I would be dead."

"Wow," Howard breathed. "That's pretty lucky."

Ingram grunted. "Luck had nothing to do with it. It's all about the steel, the servos and the circuits. Hell, I might even have you to thank for it."

"Me?" she said incredulously.

"I read Danse's report," Ingram replied. "You're a Clayton, aren't you? Of Clayton Industries? Your father helped build the first suit of power armor. Dr. Clayton's work with the fusion core is why the Brotherhood can still use power armor suits today. Plenty of my engineers idolize him."

"He was nothing to be proud of," Howard muttered. She was much less charismatic when her family was part of the conversation.

"Your promotion to Knight is something to be proud about, at least," Ingram said. "I've been setting up some power armor for you at Maxson's request." She pointed across the room. "There's a pretty decent T-60 suit over there that's all yours. The left leg's actuator is a bit sticky, but it'll keep the creeps off you."

"I definitely need that," Howard said. "Thank you very much. I appreciate it."

"Yeah, don't mention it," Ingram replied. "I've got to get back to work. Nice to meet you."

Howard smiled and then turned to head towards the set of power armor Ingram had designated as hers. Danse stood dumbstruck for a moment before he followed her.

Ingram had not even told _him_ what had happened to her legs. Granted, he never really concerned himself with personal conversations, but still—Howard had been on the Prydwen for all of a few hours, and she was somehow making emotional inroads this quickly?

Howard stood in front of the T-60 model, looking utterly dwarfed by it. Danse stepped forward. "Let me show you-,"

"Oh, I know how it works," Howard said absently, as she circled the suit. She took a fusion core laying on the table beside her and slotted it into the back. "Clayton Industries, remember?"

The power armor opened up to her with a hiss. "The T-60 model was the last one deployed before the war." She stopped and sighed. "My father used to brag about how much money the Battle of Anchorage made him. The Army needed crates of fusion cores."

Howard did not wait for him to say anything and instead stepped inside the power armor. It enclosed around her as her head popped through the top of the chest piece. She lifted her arm and tested the metal hand by creating a fist.

She looked at him and smiled. "We're almost the same height."

"That is not what will assist you in combat," Danse replied.

Howard took a few experimental steps past him. The metal plates on the ground shook under her feet.

"Feels like you can take on the world in there, doesn't it?" he said.

Howard tested the joint on the left leg. "As long as taking on the world doesn't involve any sneaking around, I suppose."

"War is won through force," Danse replied. "Not—subtlety or _charisma_."

She smiled slightly. "Has anyone ever told you that you can attract more flies with honey?"

Danse frowned. "Why would I want to attract flies in the first place?"

"You—never mind," Howard said with a shake of her head. Her suit clicked as the pieces opened back up, and she began to push herself out of it.

"What are you doing?" Danse asked.

Howard shut the armor with a twist of the wheel at the back. "Movement drains the fusion core," she said. "Why waste the power just to jaunt around here?" She circled the armor and stopped in front of him. "Might even be a reason for you to step out of that thing every once and a while."

Danse bristled at her…perfectly reasonable point. He would never sprint in power armor because of the effect it had on his power reserves, but being inside it made him feel more powerful. Like a true Paladin. His suit was a mark of his rank, his confidence. Howard apparently had no interest in that.

She did not notice his discomfort. "I should go find my personal quarters," she said. "I will meet you on the Flight Deck later. Elder Maxson asked to speak to us. I'm hoping afterwards to be able to return to Diamond City."

"We will see about that," he replied. "Ad Victorium, Knight."

She passed him with a polite smile and then disappeared from the workshop. Danse knew perhaps he should have been more truthful with her about their chances of returning to Diamond City right away. But he was conflict-averse, and had no interest in telling her that he suspected Maxson was going to give them direct orders related to clearing the area around where the Prydwen had docked.

This time, Howard would not have a choice to forgo those duties and leave. Though, it might be better for her to have more training before diving headfirst back into tracking the Institute.

Danse was not afraid that he oversold her in his Brotherhood reports. She was smart and had a wealth of pre-war knowledge that would give them an edge in their fight against the Institute.

Howard was also new to using weapons and being in battle, which was a threat to _her_ life more than anything else. Her promotion through the Brotherhood ranks had been so rapid, that if something were to happen to Howard, her blood would be on _his_ hands.


	8. Chapter 8

Danse went to meet Elder Maxson at the tip of the Prydwen's Flight Deck for his new orders. He arrived early, but Maxson was already there. Howard was hopefully not going to be too far behind, provided she would not get too distracted by another one of her friendly conversations. She'd probably gone to fetch her power armor after finding her quarters.

"Reporting for duty, sir," Danse said as soon he was close enough.

Maxson turned. "Good to see you, Paladin. I hope you're ready for your next mission."

"I am," he replied. "I assume we will be assisting in the efforts clearing the Boston Airport?"

"Not exactly," Maxson said, then he stepped closer to the railing of the ship and gestured down. "Take a look over there. That's Fort Strong, and it's infested with super mutants."

Maxson was pointing to a small island near the coast—only one building remained intact among the mud and debris. Danse's nose instinctively crinkled in disgust at the mention of super mutants.

"I see," Danse said. "I would be happy to lead a team down there to exterminate those filthy things."

Maxson nodded. "I want you to take Knight Howard with you."

"Only her, sir?"

"We've observed a number of well-armed super mutants coming in and out of the building, but we also suspect that they are sitting on top of a stockpile of mini-nukes," Maxson explained. "It's a delicate situation. I want to secure the stockpile without risking the mutants detonating them. That means I need to send in as few men as possible as quietly as possible."

"Understood," Danse said, though his mind was racing. This sounded like far too dangerous of a mission for him and Howard to take on alone.

"We've only just docked the Prydwen, and our men are stretched thin," Maxson said. "Are you concerned that Howard will not be enough fire support for you?"

Danse's fingers fluttered nervously in his suit. "Well, sir, as our newest recruit, Howard does not have much experience with combat. I fear she would be endangered by such a risky mission."

Maxson's prominent brow lowered. "You will have to make due, Paladin. You have taken Knight Howard under your charge, and I expect you to train her to be the best. I gave her the rank of Knight because I trusted your assessment of her skills."

"Yes, Elder," Danse replied immediately. "I understand, and we will not let you down."

"Good," Maxson said, and his head turned when heavy footsteps joined them at the end of the Flight Deck. Howard appeared in her power armor and nodded to them both. She had pulled her hair back from her face.

"Elder Maxson," she said.

Maxson shifted his stance so his hands were behind his back. "Knight Howard, your new orders are to accompany Paladin Danse to exterminate the super mutants infesting Fort Strong and secure that base's nuclear arsenal." His shoulders straightened, chest protruding more. "I realize you're eager to take the fight to the Institute, but it will have to wait. The Brotherhood cannot allow those abominations to have a stockpile of mini-nukes at their fingertips."

Howard's face was relatively stoic, but she did look at Danse—for what, he did not know. Confirmation, perhaps? Her lips tightened.

"I understand, Elder," she said. "We will complete our mission as quickly as possible."

"I expect nothing less," Maxson replied. "You're both dismissed."

Howard and Danse saluted again to him as he marched across the Flight Deck, leaving them alone together at the tip of the Prydwen.

"Fort Strong is just down there," Danse remarked, pointing. "We will take a fully-armored Vertibird with us and use the mini-gun against the super mutants outside the building."

Her eyes settled on the island. "You knew Maxson was going to give us a mission like this, didn't you?"

"I suspected it," Danse admitted. "I did not think it would do any good to tell you beforehand. I know you want to find your son, but-," He stopped and shook his head. "You can't keep your power armor, the weapons, the ammo, or _me_ , even, if you aren't willing to do missions for the Brotherhood."

Howard sighed. "I know, and it's clear I need all those things. Alone, I could never…" She raised her arm, but then seemed to realize she was in power armor and could not touch her face so easily. She craned her neck up to stare at the sun in an attempt to contain her emotions.

"Do you think this mission will be dangerous?"

Danse frowned and looked back out at the fog obscuring parts of Fort Strong. "You will be fine if you stay behind me and follow my orders to the letter, Knight. Understood?"

"I understand, Danse," she replied.

"Let's get going then."

They walked together to the middle of the Flight Deck where a Vertibird was docked and ready to disembark. It took Howard a few tries to climb into the cockpit in her power armor, but she managed, and then he followed her after she introduced herself to the pilot.

They disengaged from the Prydwen and flew down closer to the airport. The sun was setting past the waves and casting yellow and orange light on the water. By the time they finished their mission, it would likely be dark out.

"Take the minigun, Howard," Danse ordered as the strip of land Fort Strong was on came into view. "There will likely be hostiles outside the armory."

Howard complied and crouched down with both hands on the minigun. She knew how to use one of those at least.

The pilot's voice crackled over their radio. "Target acquired," she said. "I'll try to keep him in your sights."

Howard had put her helmet on, but he could hear the concern in her voice as she peered through the fog at the super mutant behemoth lumbering around the debris.

"I've never seen _that_ kind of super mutant before."

Danse did not get to the chance to reply because the minigun whirred in preparation and then released a loud hailstorm of bullets. He supplemented her attack with his laser rifle.

Howard did a good job concentrating her fire on the behemoth, while the monster hurled rocks at the Vertibird. A few hit their target and rammed into the metal hull, shaking them violently in their seats.

Eventually, the behemoth let out a ferocious roar and collapsed on the ground in a massive pile of dust. The pilot spoke again once the hostiles were mostly clear.

"I'm going to try to find a place to set her down and then hightail it back to the Prydwen for repairs," she said.

They landed on the other side of the island from the armory. Howard used the minigun to dispose of the remaining super mutants, and then they disembarked from the Vertibird.

"Watch your step," Danse said. "There's quite a bit of debris here."

Howard looked around at the destroyed homes and the bricks littering the road. The area around the fort before the war had homes for the families of soldiers stationed there.

"I'm not worried about debris," Howard replied as they trekked down the road. Her gaze was locked on the body of the behemoth as they passed it. "Those super mutants could have torn me in half."

"Easily," Danse replied without thinking. Upon realizing how terrifying that sounded, he quickly added: "I will not allow that to happen. Stay close."

They reached the armory, the sign for it faded and falling apart. The building itself was in fairly good shape, though that probably meant there were even more super mutants inside.

Danse stopped on the small set of stairs. "Listen up, Knight," he ordered. "We do this clean and quiet. No heroics and by the book. Understood?"

"I'll do what I can," she replied, though she sounded confused by his significantly harsher tone.

He was not comforted by her response, but what was he supposed to do? Quit? Maxson had given him orders, and if he could not protect Howard, what sort of commanding officer was he?

Danse opened the wooden door of the armory and stepped inside. The second story had collapsed in places, and super mutant flesh bags were hanging from the ceiling. He could tell his scowl was deepening—these _monsters_ were a blight on the Commonwealth that needed to be destroyed.

Even through his helmet, the super mutant smell was nauseating, and it was worse the further they moved into the house.

The front of the armory was a residential and administrative area for the troops. Howard stayed behind him as he'd ordered, and the close quarters allowed him to control the battlefield. No one to sneak up behind them and cause harm.

They took down three super mutants together with their laser rifles, and then Howard tossed him a grenade that he threw in a closed-off room where two others were hiding out.

Danse knew that the arsenal would be better protected below them, so he corralled Howard into the elevator. She entered first, and he stood in front of her as the doors closed.

"Power armor gives a whole new meaning to the term _close quarters_ ," she remarked, as the front of her chest plate scraped the back of his.

"It would be unsafe for you to ride in the elevator alone," Danse replied.

"And here I thought you wanted an opportunity to get closer to me," she said, and even though he was not facing her, he could tell she was grinning.

"That would be inappropriate, Howard."

He heard her snort in the silence before the elevator dinged and the doors creaked open. Danse hopped out and immediately surveyed the area, swinging his rifle left and right.

"Come on," he said. "Stay focused."

Howard and Danse rounded the corner and then headed down a narrow hallway. The room opened up as they came upon a balcony—the floor below them was littered with body parts and blood from super mutants.

Danse's Geiger counter began clicking; it alerted him to the fact that they were close to the stockpile, though the radiation was likely coming from the white generator in the middle of the room below them.

Power armor was not a medium for stealth, so the super mutants in the room directly across from the balcony heard them right away. Danse began firing down at the hound and the other mutant he spotted entering the common area. He heard other grunts and voices from another room—they would likely be surrounded on two sides soon.

"Stay back and down, Howard," Danse ordered.

"Got it!" she said back over the sound of bullets sailing over their heads.

Danse hurried down the stairs while leveling his rifle at another super mutant that emerged from the room in front of him, firing its pistol. There were at least five or six hostiles, and Danse crouched behind the reactor to cover himself from their fire, his Geiger counter clicking more frantically because of it. He managed to pick off most of the super mutants as they corralled themselves in the hallway.

A super mutant hound bounded forward and jumped at Danse with teeth bared. Its mouth only bit hard into the metal of his arm, and he flung the beast off him to the side. Because of the distraction, a shot hit him directly in the chest, and he staggered back. His armor protected him mostly, but he still felt the force of it.

Howard was firing down on the super mutant that had hit him, though that was not the only one left in the room. As he lifted his rifle, he heard another super mutant to his right; he turned in time to see it raising something to its shoulder.

A _missile launcher_.

Given the circumstances—an arsenal of mini-nukes just around the corner—things could have been worse. The super mutant could have had a Fat Man and blown them all to smithereens.

Except that the mutant wasn't pointing the rocket launcher at him anyway. It was aiming up, away from him, at Howard.

The missile hit the railing rather than Howard herself—it exploded, and through the smoke and debris all he saw was Howard flying backwards back into the hallway.

His heart dropped like a heavy boulder. He had been afraid this would happen again—one of his men injured or killed because of his lack of leadership. Instead of panicking, his training instinct kicked in.

Danse fired in rapid succession at the super mutant before it could reload the missile launcher. A few head shots later and the beast was dead on the floor. Howard's shots before she'd been hit had killed the other one.

Danse ran up the stairs—the balcony was still smoking, the door frame now just a gaping hole. A few of the metal tiles had been blasted from the floor in front of him.

"Howard!" he exclaimed.

Her power armor had been blown to the ground in the hallway, smoking like the rest of the area around them. The panel on the left leg was crumpled, and her helmet was discarded on the floor a few feet away.

Howard had pushed herself out of her armor and onto the floor. Her hair was falling over her face and was matted with blood.

Danse hopped out of his own power armor and hurried over to her. He knelt down on one knee.

"Howard," he said again. "Are you-,"

She rolled over and tried to push herself up with one arm. She did not look like she had any major injuries. She must have been far enough away from the poorly-aimed blast. Still, a close call.

"I didn't know super mutants had rocket launchers," she mumbled.

"Are you bleeding?" he demanded. "Are you alright?" He could _not_ lose another one of his men.

She swallowed roughly. "I-I think I'm okay. My head…"

He pushed her hair back from her temple and saw some blood trickling down. "It doesn't look too deep," he said, but he still rummaged for something for her to hold against the wound.

Howard laid her other arm across her stomach. "My ribs seem a little worse for wear too, but otherwise…" She hissed in pain as she shifted.

Danse pulled out five or six Stimpacks. "Here, let's-,"

"One is fine, Danse," she muttered. "I'm okay."

He exhaled sharply. "You could have died."

"I should have been paying more attention," she protested.

Danse stowed the other Stimpacks away and only left one for her to use. "I'm supposed to _teach_ you to pay attention."

"All in due time," she replied. "Did you get all the super mutants?"

"Yes," he said. "I think the arsenal is just around the corner."

Addison tried to push herself up before she cried out and slumped back down. " _God_ that hurts."

Danse raised his hand. "Just wait. Rest a second."

She nodded and leaned back against her destroyed armor. She tried to inhale a deep breath, but winced immediately.

"I'm such a fool," she blurted out after a few seconds. "I'm…"

"No," Danse insisted. "I should have known this would be too difficult for you."

That seemed to upset her more. "That's the _point_ ," she began exasperatedly. "I can't handle a medium-sized group of super mutants. How am I supposed to handle the _Institute_? Oh God…"

Her lower lip was trembling, and he could not read her expression. "It will be difficult, Howard, but-,"

She gave a small sniffle, and Danse had to stop himself before he panicked. It was probably emotionally taxing for Howard to consider the fact that she might not be able to save her son due to her inability to fight—taxing enough to make her… _cry_. Maybe she was upset because she was in pain too.

"Sorry," she said plaintively. "I'm sorry. This is embarrassing."

"It's…fine, soldier," Danse replied. He shifted and cleared his throat. "You…uh, did good work with those super mutants."

"Yeah, that was all you, Danse," she muttered as she wiped the back of her hand across her face. The dirt and blood on her cheeks smeared onto her arm.

Danse hesitated before sitting a respectable distance away from her. In all honesty, he was a little impressed at the moment at her tenacity. He'd imagined her as the type of woman who considered herself out of commission at the first hint of pain or trouble. Yet, here she was trying to bravely pull herself together after a close call. She was not even angry at him for what he perceived to be his failure as her leader.

"I am always happy to exterminate super mutant filth," he said.

Howard leaned back further against her armor. "You seem to hate them more than you hate everything else."

Danse sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating. Perhaps she deserved an explanation after his failure to her as a commanding officer.

"Super mutants were responsible for the death of a close friend of mine," he began. "A Brotherhood Knight named Cutler. Hate is too gentle a word for how I feel about them."

"I'm so sorry, Danse," she replied as she met his gaze. Her expression was sorrowful. Very…genuine. Maybe this was how she got people to tell her so many things.

He shook his head. "These monstrosities are just another example of man blindly taking a step forward, only to wind up stumbling two steps back. I've been fighting for years trying to put a stop to this madness. Just when I thought we were getting the upper-hand, along come the synths."

Danse gestured sharply to the super mutant body a few feet away from them. "I've seen what these things do to people. Can you imagine what the synths would do to us if they ever got the upper-hand?"

Her eyes darted away. "I don't want to think about what the Institute is capable of."

Howard was worried for her son again. He was hoping their conversation about super mutants would steer them _away_ from that, but of course he'd failed. Danse sighed.

"Look, I don't mean to bore you or scare you with my rhetoric," he said. "So that's enough of that."

She shrugged. "I'm not bored. Only in a…" Another wince escaped her. "Fair bit of pain."

"We should get back to the Prydwen so that Knight-Captain Cade can look at you," he said. "Can you walk?"

"If I couldn't, would you carry me?" she asked, smiling slightly.

Danse stood and gave her a critical look. "You seem fine."

Howard put her palm back on her power armor so she could lift herself up. Danse reached out to help her, and he pulled her to her feet.

"I don't think your suit is in good enough shape to use," he remarked after a careful visual inspection of it. "Maxson will likely send a few men here to transport the mini-nukes onto the Prydwen. I will get them to retrieve your power armor and bring it to Ingram."

Howard scrubbed her brow. "I get a T-60 and in less than 24 hours, I've destroyed it. Am I officially the worst Brotherhood Knight ever?"

"No, Howard," Danse said. And he meant it. "I take full responsibility for this. I should have stayed up here with you longer."

"It's not your job to babysit me," she replied.

Danse shook his head. "I don't do that. You are in my charge. It involves a degree of protection for now, but we're a team."

"Still, I should thank you for having my back," she insisted. "I find a lot of snack cakes during my travels."

"I don't need a reward for doing my job," Danse said. Though he would have liked a snack cake at that moment. "And my job isn't done yet. You need to return to the Prydwen."

Howard braced her hand against her side. "Probably a good idea."

Danse considered apologizing to Howard as she hobbled away—even though apologizing was normally against his better judgment. She'd proven to be a relatively tough soldier, and their mission here at Fort Strong was certainly a difficult one.

Maybe he should have been giving Howard more credit all along.

* * *

After a bumpy and painful ride in a Vertibird, Addison was taken to the Prydwen's medical bay so that Knight-Captain Cade could look at her ribs. He also applied gauze to her head wound and fixed the other bumps and scratches she got from the super mutant's missile launcher.

All in all it was a painful experience, her emotions about which she tried to keep bottled inside her. Danse had not been sympathetic about her frustration concerning her inability to protect herself.

What kind of mother was she that she couldn't find her son and keep him from danger? Granted, the type of danger Shaun was in constituted a type far above average, but she _couldn't_ give up. And dying from a Raider attack, or because of super mutants, or anything else, would be a form of giving up that would be intolerable.

For all of Danse's stubbornness, it was clear he cared about her as a soldier. He was one hell of a fighter, too. His shots always hit where they were supposed to; he always knew where to stand; he could probably win a fist fight, if he wanted. She needed to learn these skills if she was ever going to prove herself in the Commonwealth.

That night, Addison was laying on a cot in Knight-Captain Cade's clinic. She felt better after Cade gave her another Stimpack, but breathing still sent pain traveling up her chest.

When she looked up, she was surprised to see Danse hovering near the threshold of the clinic. He entered the room after a few awkward shuffles; he wasn't in his power armor and had a gun strapped to his back.

"Soldier, how are you?" he asked.

Addison shifted on her cot, her hand rested across her stomach. "It's nice of you to come visit me," she said. "I'm doing fine. I would have left a while ago, but Cade asked me to stay. He wants me to answer some questions about pre-war medicine."

"I'm sure you will be a valuable resource for him," Danse replied.

She looked down and fiddled with her fingers. They were no longer well-manicured or without callouses. She wished Danse saw her as more than a _resource_.

"Did you speak to Elder Maxson yet?" she asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"I did," Danse said. "He wanted me to congratulate you on your success. The arsenal we secured will be a huge asset to the Brotherhood in our fight against the Institute."

She raised a brow. "Are we actually going to do that now? Fight the Institute?"

"Yes, Howard," he said. "Maxson has given us no further orders other than to continue searching for the Institute. For now."

She smiled widely. "That's great news. We should leave for Diamond City tomorrow."

"Ingram says it will take at least a week to repair your power armor," he protested. "Maybe longer. Don't you want to leave with it?"

"We're only going to Diamond City to speak to Nick," Addison said. "I should be fine. Well, as long as you're with me, and there are no more super mutants with missile launchers."

Danse grunted. "It's not safe out there, Howard."

"I will get better," Addison insisted. "I have to."

"Under my leadership, I'm confident you will," Danse replied. There was a gun strapped to his back, and he pulled it over his head. "What happened at Fort Strong did force me consider that perhaps we should be pursuing other avenues for your training."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Danse's fingers drummed against the gun before he presented it to her. "I got you this."

Her brow furrowed. "A sniper rifle?" she began incredulously. "You can't think that I would be good at using _this_."

He set it on her cot. "It's technically a customized hunting rifle with a scope," he said. "And I think you should give it a chance. You panic in close combat situations. Using a long-range weapon would reduce that impulse. This also requires a lot of patience, which you arguably have."

Her lip ticked up again. "Was that a thinly-veiled compliment, Paladin?"

"A fact, Howard," he replied.

Addison wrapped her hands around the barrel of her new rifle. It was heavy and old—maybe even from before the war. Not that she'd seen many of them because Nate was not a sniper and instead mostly brought pistols home.

"Did you do the modifications on this?" she asked.

"No," Danse said. "I got it from Teagan."

"But-," Addison lowered the gun back to her cot. "You have to use caps to buy weapons from Teagan. You…. _bought_ this for me?"

He cleared his throat nervously, eyes darting away. "Well, I—I suppose that's true, Howard. But it is my job to ensure your safety, and if it takes a few caps to do it, then I will spend them."

"No, Danse, I couldn't allow-,"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "There is perhaps something else I should say to you to accompany this—er, conveyance."

"Gift, you mean?" she said.

"No, it's—Howard, I am a _Paladin_. I do not give gifts." He pointed to the rifle. "This is an investment. An assurance that you will stay alive."

Howard grinned. "Alright. Not a gift."

Danse shifted on his feet again. He was clearly nervous—his excessive stoicism had trickled away, leaving a fidgeting man who could hardly look her in the eyes.

"I came here because I…simply wanted to clear the air," he explained. "I feel like we got off on the wrong foot when we first met."

"I suppose so," Addison admitted. "Trying to find Shaun has certainly…frayed my nerves. This whole place, actually."

"No, I owe you an apology, Howard," he said. "Expecting you to embrace the standards of the Brotherhood without having a history with us was unfair. And given that you've adjusted so well to our beliefs, I don't think I needed to push so hard."

"That was very kind of you to say, Danse," she replied. "You're not worried I'm going to quit, are you?"

"No," he said defensively. "I just—felt like this was the right thing to do." He crossed his arms, making himself smaller. "When I was an Initiate, my sponsor was Paladin Krieg. The toughest squad leader I ever served with. He was a model soldier, embodying the values every trainee was striving to achieve. From the moment I was assigned to his squad, I was singled out. It felt like he was pushing me harder than the rest of the team. He never explained to me why I was treated that way."

She moved her gun so it was resting along the side of her leg. Danse had never shared any personal information about himself with her before. She supposed she should take advantage of the opportunity while she could.

"Did you ask him why?"

"I considered it, but I never had the chance," he said, then he frowned slightly. "After I was promoted to Paladin and I had moved on to my own squad, I received word that Krieg was killed at Adams Air Force Base. The news was like being kicked in the stomach. I mean, I'd lost some of my brothers and sisters before, but his death…it really got to me."

His gaze lowered to his feet before he scrubbed at his temple. "It's taken me a long time to realize it, but the reason Krieg was so tough on me is the same reason I'm tough on you. It's because I believe in you, and I don't want to see any of your potential go to waste. I want you to find your son."

Her brow rose higher. "Thank you, Danse."

"You're—well." He stepped back. "I've said what I have to say, and I hope that it meant something to you."

"It does," she assured him. "It's…good to hear you have some hope that I'll be good at all this someday."

Danse shuffled back further and then turned away. He stopped, like he'd forgotten something. "I…trust you'll keep this in confidence, of course," Danse added, only half his face visible as he looked back. "Some of that information was of a personal nature, and well—I'd like to keep it that way."

"I won't-,"

Danse had disappeared before she even finished her sentence, his footsteps echoing down the metal hallway.

Addison inspected the rifle again. Their interaction was certainly one of the best they'd ever had. It was unsettling to consider that Danse actually had…feelings and emotions. It had been so much easier to be angry at him when she thought he was an inflexible hard-ass.

He seemed _actually_ invested in her survival. Maybe even invested in her quest for Shaun.

The best part was that with Danse's help, she might actually find him.


	9. Chapter 9

Danse was not one to participate in emotional—or even friendly—conversations, so his apology to Howard after they returned from Fort Strong was draining to say the least. In the clinic, it had not been difficult to talk to her, but the hours of preparation and constant mulling were not pleasant to deal with beforehand. These kinds of things weren't easy for him, which was made even worse by the fact that Howard was a bonafide natural at it.

The next day, Danse did not speak much to Howard. He expected her to be in recovery for at least a few more days despite her earlier proclamations about leaving—the injuries she sustained were not the kind that could be easily ignored.

Yet, she actually persisted in her pleas that they depart from the Prydwen that very day.

Danse acquiesced to her request rather than continue to argue and arranged for a Vertibird to take them wherever it was Howard wanted to go. He was surprised when he learned that she wished to return to her settlement first—home, is what she'd actually called it. She must have wanted to check-in with her friends that she frequently mentioned and perhaps pick up that canine of hers.

They arrived at her settlement in the mid-afternoon, far north of Boston and the Prydwen. The Vertibird landed a few dozen yards from the fortified wall they'd created to protect the cluster of houses the group lived in. There was a faded sign just across the bridge that proclaimed the plot of land _Sanctuary Hills_.

Once they had disembarked, Howard invited Danse to look around the settlement and _meet_ people while she tended to her business. He managed to run into a _very_ surly young woman and a deranged older one and then decided it would be a better use of his time to patrol the settlement's perimeter and search for any potential weaknesses.

In Danse's opinion, the lot was a bit large to be truly defensible. They had a line of turrets along the front near the bridge, but if the settlers were to condense themselves into two or three houses rather than five or six, they would be at less risk for attack.

Danse suspected these people were in rapid pursuit of normalcy, at the cost of their protection. Each family having their own home probably felt like something new and novel—a vestige of Howard's former life when everyone had their own, identifiable space.

It was dusk when he noticed the orange and green clouds churning on the horizon and moving towards them. A few cracks of lightning confirmed his suspicions—a radiation storm.

Danse gave a small huff of annoyance. Despite their danger, no one in the Commonwealth could actually _do_ anything about radiation storms. They came and they went, and the best a person could do was wait inside for one to end.

He clopped over to Howard's house as the storm moved closer—he knew it was hers because there was a dog bowl by the front door. He intended to speak with her about ways to improve her settlement's defenses, but when he stepped inside, he saw her sitting on a stool at the kitchen island _dismantling_ her sniper rifle. Dogmeat briefly lifted his head from his position curled up on the couch, but upon seeing Danse, he settled back down with a sleepy exhale.

Howard looked up upon hearing him enter. "Oh good," she said. "I saw the storm and was about to come out and get you."

Danse walked over with a crease in his brow. "What are you doing?" he asked. "You know, I can't put that thing back together without Teagan or Ingram's help."

Howard turned on her stool so she was facing him. Her face twisted in an expression of pain for a brief moment—her ribs still hurt, he knew that. "Don't worry. I can do it."

"I find that hard to believe," he replied.

Howard did not seem offended, only swiveled back to her rifle parts to examine them further. "You really shouldn't wear your power armor in the house," she said, her words punctuated by a rumble of thunder and the urgent clicking of his Geiger counter. "Hop out of it and have some dinner. I made stew. Everyone else jumped on it pretty quick but I managed to save some for you."

Danse did not reply immediately and instead looked around the house. It had not occurred to him when he first entered how… _clean_ the space was. And _decorated_.

The furniture was arranged neatly in the corner—a couch, two chairs, a coffee table, and even a TV. Though the kitchen was barren of appliances, there were still bowls and salt and pepper shakers stacked on the counter. The shelves to his left held little trinkets like floral vases and an old folded American flag.

Danse took a few steps towards the wall to safely stow his power armor as he slid from it. He did not like to be outside of it much, but he could not eat and wear it. He'd already tried.

"Are you going to tell me why you think you can reassemble this thing?" Danse asked, gesturing to the pile of bullets she'd extracted from the magazine.

She shrugged. "It's pretty simple, really. I was never allowed to fire any weapons, but Nate was in the military. He'd bring his guns home, and I cleaned them for him. I understand the individual parts pretty well and got good at breaking them down."

"Why couldn't he do that himself?" he asked, then he followed up with something too brash. "Owning a poorly-maintained weapon is a hallmark of a bad soldier."

"He wasn't bad," she said mildly. "Nate was…he just didn't understand the concept of taking good care of material possessions." She put down the piece she had been cleaning with a grayish cloth. "Nate's family was very, _very_ rich. Old money, too. The Howards had been in the steel industry for almost a century and a half. Nate never had an appreciation for his things because he could toss them out and get new ones."

Danse walked over to the counter and retrieved the bowl Howard had left out for him. It was still steaming. "I thought your family was rich too."

"You forget that my father made his money by perfecting the nuclear fusion core," she said. Her eyes followed him as the crossed the room and sat on the couch. "I was never wanting for anything growing up, but we weren't rich like Nate's family until I was older."

Danse chewed hard on a piece of meat that was mostly gristle. Squirrel, from what he could tell. Otherwise, Howard had actually made pretty decent stew. In the silence, she had gone back to tinkering with her rifle, probably assuming that he no longer wished to continue the conversation.

"This is good," he remarked. "The stew."

Howard's lip drew up in a small, self-deprecating smile. "Making that wasn't quite like cooking before the war. But some of the techniques are the same." She shrugged. "And if there's anything I'm good at its…" She carelessly waved her hand towards the kitchen area. "Being _domestic_."

Danse set his bowl—licked clean—on the coffee table. "I thought you were a lawyer, not a housewife."

"Nate and I were married right after I graduated from law school. About a year and a half after that, Nate asked me to quit work so that we could start a family. It…took us longer than we expected to conceive," she said.

"So you just gave up your career because he asked you to?" Danse asked, brow furrowed.

Howard stopped working, but merely tilted her head in a thoughtful look as opposed to turning to him. "I suppose so," she said. "But I…really sort of hated being a lawyer anyway."

"Why?"

Howard finally glanced over her shoulder at him. "You couldn't possibly want to hear about all that."

Danse leaned back further on the couch. "If you make your explanation concise enough I might."

She gave a soft snort. "I'll try my best." She gently put down the piece of her rifle she'd been inspecting. "My father paid for my legal education, so afterwards I felt pressured to work in the areas he wanted me to. I couldn't be employed at firms that represented Clayton Industries or General Atomics, but there were other places I could go that did the same sort of litigation on behalf of corporations."

Danse crossed his arms, but said nothing. Did Howard spend her life before the war just doing whatever anyone _else_ told her to?

Howard leaned sideways against the counter as she faced him. "The only case I ever worked was as a part of a team representing Robco. They made things like Assaultrons and Sentry Bots, which like everything else before the war ran on nuclear power."

She frowned slightly. "Robco was being sued by a father who worked in their factory assembling robots. Robco did not warn this man about the dangers of radiation exposure, and after decades of work with them, the radiation that accumulated on him, his clothes, the food he brought home, adversely affected his daughter. She died from those complications before the case concluded. Her father sued Robco on her behalf for her injuries and then her wrongful death."

"Did the father win?" Danse asked.

Howard shook her head, her mouth a hard line. "No," she said. "We—the lawyers I was working with crafted an argument about how even _if_ Robco was responsible for keeping their employee reasonably safe, they did not owe anything to his daughter." She sighed. "Robco _knew_ exactly what radiation could do, and they carelessly put people in danger anyway. I _defended_ that decision and I…I suppose Nate asking me to leave my job was something I wanted because of that."

"Those corporations were despicable," Danse said sourly, a sentiment he was sure he'd shared with Howard a dozen times.

"I'm aware," she muttered. "It still bothers me sometimes." Her head bowed slightly as she bit her lip. "It bothered me tremendously before. Seems kind of silly now considering…" Lightning crashed bright and sickly green above them, visible through the hole in the wall, and Howard let out another defeated exhale. "Considering the state of the world now."

"I'm sure most of the problems you had before the war seem trivial," Danse remarked.

She nodded. "Just before Shaun was born, Nate and I got into a little argument about what color we should paint the nursery. We both wanted blue, but couldn't agree on what shade."

Danse did not interrupt her, but he could venture a guess at who won that argument, since it seemed like Howard capitulated at every turn to the whims of others.

She ran her hand through her hair. It was wavy normally, but seemed particularly tangled around her temple. "It seems stupid now because there's nothing left of Shaun's room. A metal frame and a pile of rubble. There's…" Her freckled face went pale, like she'd been hit in the stomach. "There's nothing left of my _family_ , either."

Danse was in dangerous territory again and clenched his fingers nervously around the arm of the couch.

"You will find your son, Howard. All isn't lost."

"I know," she said quickly. "I mean, I _hope_. But I still miss Nate." Her thumb fiddled with the gold band on her finger. "Very much."

"It's…natural to feel that way about a deceased spouse," Danse said. _Stupid_. God, he sounded so incompetent and cold. Of course, then he wondered why exactly he was so concerned with comforting Howard in the first place.

Howard clenched her hand with the ring on it and moved it from her view. "I shouldn't have said anything," she began. "I—I'm sure there are people here who have more time for my needless…blathering."

"I've enjoyed our conversation so far," he said, and he meant it.

"Well…well that's a first, I imagine," she replied with a small laugh.

Danse crossed his arms. "When I volunteered to be your sponsor, it was not just so I could teach you the right way to fire a weapon. I want you to be a good soldier and that means you need to have your mental faculties in peak condition. You aren't going to feel better about your situation unless you…express your feelings. And I can be there for that."

Howard was silent for a few moments, absorbed in thought, or sadness perhaps. Her hand eventually rose to push her hair behind her ear. "Thank you, Danse," she said. "That was very kind of you to say and also very…scientific."

Before he could reply, she slid off her stool. "You can always talk to me, too, if you'd like. If any thoughts that go through that head of yours aren't Brotherhood related. "

"It happens on occasion," Danse admitted, which made her grin.

Howard gestured right to the hallway. "I'm going to head to bed. Try and sleep out this storm. You should get some rest too, while we both can."

"Noted, soldier," Danse said, then he looked sideways when Dogmeat rose to his feet on the couch and then leapt off to follow Howard to her room.

She disappeared without another word, and Danse stood to place his bowl back on the counter. A rumble of thunder rattled the metal frame of the house as he walked.

He stopped in front of the kitchen island when the corresponding flash of lightning from the storm lit up the living room.

Howard's rifle was lying on the counter on its side. It was perfectly reassembled.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: As y'all can probably tell, I'm not great at making my chapter lengths consistent! I had all this stuff written and rather than split it in two, I thought it would be better to just go for it all in one chapter! Hope y'all have been enjoying!

* * *

When Addison woke up, her ribs _hurt_. Stimpak or not, breathing became a much more laborious task after she was hurt at Fort Strong; the pain that accompanied any movement of her torso made her want to lay in bed for an eternity, despite the fact that sunlight was streaming through the hole in her wall down into her eyes. Danse had apparently let her sleep through the whole night, again, and not gotten any sleep himself. It couldn't be good for his health, doing that constantly.

Addison knew she wouldn't find the Institute or Shaun just lying in bed, and each second that ticked by was another second that her son was without her, kidnapped and alone.

Those thoughts encouraged her to withstand the pain from her injuries and the sadness that had been drudged up from her conversation with Danse the night before. It wasn't his fault—he probably hadn't meant to begin a conversation that ended with her lamenting about how much she missed her dead husband. Danse liked discussions about the Brotherhood and weapons and missions—not exactly subjects she was knowledgeable about.

Danse was already ready for her when she left her room, and they soon left Sanctuary and crossed the bridge leading to Diamond City. Danse hadn't even noticed that she changed out of her vault-suit and into jeans and a coat, plus some armor she'd cobbled together from Raiders. She was tired of getting looks for being a Vault Dweller.

Danse, of course, did take the time to comment about how irresponsible it was for her to be traveling in her condition, but they were tepid complaints at best. Perhaps he had finally realized there were some orders she simply wasn't going to follow—like orders that delayed her from finding Shaun.

In Diamond City, Danse mostly hung back; he was her giant, disdainful bodyguard. She found her social persuasion attempts were much less successful with someone so unfriendly constantly hovering behind her, but she did get better prices from merchants from time to time. Perhaps because he was so intimidating.

Nick had a lead for them when they arrived at his office. It involved the tech that they had found on Kellogg and led them outside of Diamond City to the Memory Den in Goodneighbor.

Danse was not too impressed with Nick's hypothesis that they could mine Kellogg's synth tech for memories. In the back of her mind, Addison agreed. Kellogg was long dead at this point. She was no expert on brain chemistry, but even she knew they were chasing a flimsy lead, in a dangerous settlement, no less.

There was not anything particularly _neighborly_ about the people in Goodneighbor—Addison was almost mugged the minute they entered the settlement—so she was thankful Danse was there to provide the requisite firepower for her. The place was dark and filled with scowling people who scuttled around the shadows.

The Memory Den was tucked in the back of the neighborhood. Inside, the main room was dimly lit, the glow from the memory loungers illuminating their path to the back. It was eerie, to be sure. They passed pods of people laying lethargic and silent as they—watched their memories, Addison supposed.

Nick was standing by a doorway that led to the back. "Hey," he said, as he turned to face her. His eyes, brighter than normal in the darkness, immediately flicked to Danse.

"Your tin can hasn't run out of batteries yet?"

"Don't get any ideas, synth," Danse spat.

"From you?" Nick replied. "I wouldn't know where to look."

Addison trapped her laugh with a purse of her lips and looked away. "Are you two done?"

"Let's just get this fool's errand over with, Howard," Danse said with a glare in Nick's direction.

Nick gestured behind him. "Doctor Amari is in the back."

Danse and Addison followed him through a narrow wooden hallway and then down a set of stairs. They entered a fairly sophisticated lab, populated with gently whirring equipment and two memory loungers. A woman in a white lab coat was tinkering with something at a table.

"Doctor Amari," Nick said.

The woman turned and cocked an eyebrow. "Mister Valentine," she said. "You're not here for a social call, I take it?"

"Not exactly," Nick said. "We need your help."

"We?" Amari replied, eyes sliding warily to Danse and Addison.

She stepped forward with her hand outstretched. "I'm Addison Howard. Nick's helping me on a case. It's nice to meet you."

Amari took her hand. "I can't imagine what you'd need my expertise for."

"We need a deep dig, doc, but it's not gonna be easy," Nick said. "The perp, Kellogg, is already cold on the floor."

Amari's brow arched sharply in. "Are you two mad?" she demanded. "Putting aside the fact that you're asking me to defile a corpse, you do realize that the memory stimulators require intact, _living_ brains to function?"

Addison hurried to intervene. Dr. Amari was their only hope at accessing Kellogg's memories. "I know this seems out of the realm of possibility, but this is all I've got," she began. "Kellogg kidnapped my son for the Institute, and his brain might be the _only_ means of finding him." She gave a small sigh. "It would mean a lot to me if you'd just _try_."

Amari gave her an odd look, her jaw tensing. Her shoulders eventually dropped in defeat. "Fine," she said with a heavy exhale. "I'll take a look, but no guarantees. Do you…have it with you?"

Addison pulled her pack around to the side and opened the front pocket. She pulled out the tech they found and handed it to Amari. "This is what we could find."

Amari inspected the device in her palm "What's this?" she asked incredulously. "This isn't a brain. This is…" She squinted. "Wait…That's the hippocampus! And this thing attached to it—a neural interface?"

Nick walked over and tilted his head. "That circuitry looks familiar…"

Amari looked up. "I'm not surprised," she said. "From what I've seen, all Institute technology has a similar architecture."

"Is that a good thing?" Addison asked.

"If we're lucky, this thing might hook right into _you_ ," Amari replied, looking straight at Nick.

Addison raised her hand. "Wait—you want to put that thing on Nick's brain?"

"I want to try," she said. "Of course, Mister Valentine would be taking on a tremendous amount of risk. We're talking about wiring something to his brain."

Nick shook his head. "Don't worry about me, Amari. Let's do it."

"Wait, I couldn't possibly ask you to do this for me," Addison interjected.

He gave a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. There's a missing kid— _your_ kid—on the line. It's worth the risk."

Addison felt her throat tightening. "Thank you," she managed to say. She remembered the moment she'd emerged from the Vault months ago—seeing the destruction, she was convinced that there was _nothing_ good left in the world. The friends she'd met so far had proven her wrong, and she was glad for it.

Amari gestured down to a stool beside him. "Whenever you're ready Mister Valentine. Take a seat."

Nick sat down and removed his hat, drumming his fingers against the brim. "If I start cackling like an old, grizzled mercenary, pull me out, okay?"

"If you somehow turn into Kellogg, I will have no problem putting you down," Danse remarked.

Addison's neck snapped around to him. "Danse," she said, in a voice she might have one day used to admonish Shaun. "If you don't have anything nice to say, stand in the corner and—I don't know, look intimidating."

Danse just grunted in reply.

Amari was securing Kellogg's device behind Nick's head. "I need you to keep talking to me, Mister Valentine," she said. "Any slight change in your cognitive functions could be dire. Are you feeling any different?"

Nick gave a small groan. "There's a lot of flashes…static…I can't make sense of it, doc."

"Is he okay?" Addison asked with a worried crease in her brow.

Amari made an exasperated sound. "I was afraid of this," she said. "The mnemonic impressions are encoded. There's a lock on the memories in the implant."

"So…how do we _unlock_ them?" she asked.

Amari chewed thoughtfully on her lip. "Let's see…" she murmured. "A single mind clearly can't crack it…but what if we use _two_?"

Addison's shoulders straightened. "Load me into the memory lounger, then," she said. "Maybe I can do something to help."

Danse's armor clanked as he moved. "Howard, that's dangerous."

"That might work," Amari replied. "Mister Valentine will act as a host while your consciousness drives through whatever memories we can find."

"I'll be fine," Addison said to Danse. "We need to try this. I have no other choice."

She walked over to the memory lounger and crawled inside of it. The dirty cushions were hard against her back and she looked up to see Danse standing across from her.

"Cross your fingers that this works," Amari said, as she reached up to pull the glass dome over her.

Addison swallowed nervously and then raised a hand in a wave to Danse. Instead of only nodding in his severe way, he actually waved back just as the dome blocked him from her view.

The glass hissed around her, muting the noise in the lab. The light from the small screen was bright and hurt her eyes.

This was turning into a more and more farfetched attempt to find information about the Institute. It might even be considered _dangerous_. But the dome was shut around her now, and there was no turning back.

* * *

Danse did not like the methods Howard was employing to find Shaun. Using a dead person's brain to mine memories was nothing short of a wild goose chase. On top of that, Howard was endangering herself by acquiescing to Doctor Amari's suggestion. Who knew what this procedure would do to her consciousness?

Maybe it was most frustrating that he felt completely out of control. His laser rifle or the skills he'd honed as a soldier were no help in this situation. If some wires in Howard's brain got crossed, or she was hurt, there would be nothing he could do.

As he observed her in the dome, his fears were confirmed. Doctor Amari was watching the data from the implant on her screen, and the tone of her voice told him that some of Kellogg's memories weren't pleasant.

It was a few minutes later, when Howard was whimpering and writhing in her seat that Danse realized she was likely witnessing a memory related to _her_. Shaun's kidnapping, her husband's murder, perhaps.

She settled down eventually and saw one last memory from Kellogg, from what Danse could tell. Then, Amari was clacking on her keyboard and the dome was retracting back.

Danse took a few tentative steps closer once Howard was visible to him. She was pale, with sweat across her brow and a quivering pucker to her lips. As soon as she was conscious, she put one hand on her temple and the other over her mouth to muffle a small sob.

Amari hurried over. "Slow movements, okay? I don't know what side effects the procedure might have had. No one's ever done this before."

She just nodded and stayed sitting. She moved her hand after a few moments. Her voice was raspy.

"Is Nick okay?"

The synth was sitting up straight in his own pod. "I'm fine, kid. You take all the time you need."

"How do you feel?" Amari asked.

Howard pushed her hand back into her hair. "I-I'm…I'll be okay."

"I want you to keep monitoring yourself," Amari said. "We'll have to be sure there's no long term damage."

Danse inched closer. "Did you find out anything useful about the Institute?"

Maybe it was an insensitive question, but Howard didn't seem to mind. She nodded.

"The Institute uses teleportation to get in and out of their facility."

Amari sighed. "But that only leads to more questions. How does it work? Where do we go next?"

"Kellogg was supposed to track down an Institute scientist named Virgil," Howard said. "We need to find him. Maybe he can help us. Kellogg said he in the…Glowing Sea?"

"That makes no sense," Danse interjected. "No one goes there. Not even if they're desperate. There's so much radiation nothing could possibly live."

She had a determined set to the line of her jaw. "If that's where Virgil is, I'm going to find him."

"If you're going to go, you'll need some way to combat the radiation," Amari said.

"I have a set of power armor on the Prydwen," Howard replied. "That should help."

"Well look at that, being a Brotherhood soldier was actually useful for something," Nick remarked from his pod. Danse was prepared to snap at him, but Howard stood.

"Thank you for your help, Doctor Amari," she said.

Amari nodded curtly. "Good luck out there. And be safe."

Howard turned to him. "Come on," she said. "Let's get out of here."

"Lead the way, soldier," Danse replied, and he followed her out of the lab and back to the main room of the Memory Den. Nick trailed behind them.

They followed the strip of mangled red carpet to the front door. "You've made remarkable progress in our quest to find the Institute," Danse said. "Elder Maxson will be glad to hear about it."

Howard just nodded with a numb expression. She did not seem to care how her achievements would be viewed by others in the Brotherhood ranks.

When they reached the door, Howard turned to speak to the synth.

"Nick-,"

She stopped and cocked her head when she noticed he had stopped well behind them. Nick was staring at her, yellow eyes narrowed. He spoke, but with a voice that was _not_ his.

"Hope you got what you were looking for inside of my head," he said, then he gave a derisive snort. "I was right. Should've killed you when you were on the ice."

Danse immediately raised his rifle and stepped between Howard and Nick. His heart thrummed rapidly in his chest, though he admonished himself for having such a visceral and adverse reaction to Howard being in danger.

"Stop away from the synth, soldier."

Howard put her hand on his armor and peered around him. "Kellogg?" she began incredulously. "Is that you?"

The blank expression on Nick's face faded, and his head jerked back in surprise. "What? What are you talking about?"

"You—you sounded like Kellogg just then," she said. "Told me you should have killed me when you had the chance."

"Did I?" he asked. "Amari said there might be some mnemonic impressions left over…"

"I think you should leave," Danse said evenly.

Howard maneuvered around him. "Don't, Nick. It's fine."

"No, your bodyguard's right," Nick replied. "If there are bits of Kellogg still floating around my head, I don't want you to hear it. You don't need that right now."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"I'm sure. I probably need a few hours to get my brain back to normal anyway," he said.

"Thank you for your help, Nick," Addison said. "For doing this for me. You have no idea how much it means."

Nick smiled slightly. "Don't worry about it, kid. I'll stick around Diamond City in case something else happens with that implant. You know where to find me."

Howard squeezed his arm as he passed and disappeared through the door. Danse cleared his throat beside her.

"We should have Knight-Captain Cade evaluate you for any long term side effects from Amari's procedure."

"I…" She sighed. "I don't think it's worrisome physically. I just…saw things that I didn't want to. Nate and…" She sniffled and then shook her head. "Come on. We should get going."

Danse followed her out of the building. When they reached the street, the sun was setting behind them, shrouding the already dreary corners of Goodneighbor in more darkness.

Danse tightened his grip on his rifle. "This place seems even _less_ safe at night."

Howard stopped on the curb. "We should find some place to stay for the evening. I think I saw a hotel before we got to the Memory Den."

"You want to remain _here_?" he asked incredulously.

"If we leave, we'll have to return to Diamond City, and you know how unsafe it is around the walls." She frowned slightly. "I'm…I'm exhausted anyway after…what just happened, and I-I'd rather just sleep. I haven't seen you rest much either, you know. We might both get some sleep at the hotel."

"No," he said. "We will keep watch in shifts. No place here is safe."

Howard crossed her arms. "Every time we do that you just stay awake the whole night. I want you to actually get some sleep."

"We will see," he replied. "I don't require much rest. I might as well stay up, if I can."

"You require just as much as anyone else. You must be having trouble sleeping. What's wrong?" she asked.

Danse studied her a moment, uncertain how to proceed. Members of his team were not usually so bold asking questions like that.

"It's nothing for you to concern yourself with."

Howard hesitated, pursing her lips into a white line before she met his gaze.

"I wasn't just guessing there, you know. I read Knight-Captain Cade's report on you," she said. "The one that mentioned that you have headaches and trouble sleeping? You should really take his recommendations seriously, and I could help-,"

"You _what_?" Danse snapped, and even he surprised himself with the ferociousness of his tone.

Her brow furrowed in surprise. "I-I didn't realize it was yours until…I just want to make sure you're okay, Danse."

He scowled. "You wanted to make sure I'm okay by _hacking_ into a Brotherhood console and reading classified, personal information about me?"

"I didn't hack into anything," she insisted. "I only said something because it really seems like you aren't taking care of yourself."

"That is _none_ of your business," Danse growled. He did not like the feeling of vulnerability that twisted in his stomach. Howard was his subordinate. She should not have knowledge about these things. She should not be questioning him about them.

"Your _continued_ insubordination is a stain on this organization, and you should be ashamed of your actions."

"God, I am not talking about the Brotherhood," she said exasperatedly. "I am talking about you. Danse. The _person_."

"Well, I am appalled at your violation of my privacy," he snapped. "I thought you were better than that."

"You know what? _Fine_ ," she said bitterly. "Forget I mentioned it."

Danse clenched his fist. "I think instead I'll report you to Elder Maxson," he said.

"Do it," she replied. "I don't care."

His frown deepened. "You might care a little more when one pistol and your bad aim are the only things you've got as you cross the Glowing Sea."

She grit her teeth hard. "Do not threaten to take away my Brotherhood supplies just so I'll do what you want."

"It's time for you to learn to fall in line, Howard," he said.

"You might not like my methods, but at least I've achieved actual results," she shot back, and then she tightened the straps of her bag around her shoulders. "You should return to the Prydwen. I'm not in the mood for any more of your _sponsorship_."

"You're dismissed, Howard," he said, and she snorted.

"I was already leaving anyway!" she declared. "Have a nice night."

She marched away from him across the street with a scowl. In a matter of seconds she was engulfed by shadow, and Danse made a frustrated sound that he tried to contain. He never liked losing his temper, and he knew half the things he said to Howard had been unkind.

But it had been unsettling beyond belief knowing that Howard had read that report. For God's sake, Cade had recommended his voluntary removal from the field. That, plus the number of men in Gladius he'd lost since coming to the Commonwealth? It all made him look like an incompetent leader, and he hated it.

How was he supposed to be her sponsor if he was not equipped to do his job? She couched her remarks in _worry_ , but surely she was disappointed in him. Unimpressed.

Danse stood in the street, mulling and probably getting some odd looks as people passed. He carefully considered all his options and whether he was _really_ going to attempt to discipline Howard. He wouldn't. She was probably one of the first people _ever_ to independently discover how to infiltrate the Institute. She had a solid, compelling lead that she'd take with her if she left the Brotherhood. If there was anyone who could convince a rouge Institute scientist to divulge his secrets, it was her.

Of course, Howard wouldn't be able to complete her mission if she was attacked in this derelict neighborhood. Which would likely happen since she'd decided to storm off.

It was completely dark out once Danse decided to follow her to the hotel. Only the paltry lights along the walls lit his way. This place was _very_ far from being safe. He felt as if around every corner he'd encounter some crime being committed, so he turned off the safety on his rifle.

He found the hotel, not because he asked for directions, but because there was a giant stone building with a red lighted sign that said _Hotel Rexford_. He pushed open the door to a dingy lobby, sparsely filled with patrons.

A severe looking woman in a dirty pinstriped suit was standing at the counter across the room. She gave Danse an obvious once-over with her eyes as he walked over, starting at his feet and stopping with a frown on his face.

"Whatever it is you're looking for, it ain't here," she said in lieu of a greeting.

Danse stopped. "I'm looking for a woman."

"Did you hear what I just said?"

Danse sighed impatiently. "Her name is Addison Howard. She is of slightly above-average height and…" He paused. She wasn't wearing her vault-suit any longer; how else was he supposed to describe her?

The woman gave him a critical look. "That's all you've got for me? Your lady's _kinda_ tall?"

"She is not _my_ lady," Danse replied sharply. "And she's also…" He wracked his brain for a longer list of her features, but was not surprised when he came up with nothing. He did not catalogue in his mind what people looked like. It was usually beyond his notice whether someone was good-looking.

"She has dark hair, I think. But maybe not. And freckles." He waved his hand impatiently. "You can't have _that_ many people skulking around here. You must have seen her."

"Yeah, yeah," she said. "The weirdo rented out a room on the third floor. She introduced herself and told me it was _nice to meet me_. That's a good way to get yourself shot in Goodneighbor, you know."

"That's definitely who I'm looking for," Danse replied. He found himself more endeared about Howard's politeness than annoyed, as he had been in the past. "Thank you for your assistance, civilian."

The woman merely grunted in reply, and Danse climbed the set of stairs to the left of her. The hotel was in utter disrepair, and Danse did not want to even _think_ about what kind of illicit activities took place behind crooked doors and paper thin walls.

His armor made the stairs creak under each of his steps, and he worried he might actually break them. Thankfully, he made it to the top and spotted Howard down the hall. She was standing in front of a door and was about to open it when it flew open on its own and she stepped back.

Danse could not see the person in the threshold, but heard a throaty voice speak after an abrupt gasp.

"It…it's _you_ ," the man blurted out. "But…no. It can't be."

Danse crossed the hallway. His heart thrummed faster because a raspy voice like that could only mean one thing: she was talking to a ghoul.

"Howard, step away from this-,"

"Are you from Vault-Tec?" she asked incredulously, as opposed to following his order. Danse had no idea why she would even think that, except that the ghoul was wearing a battered khaki trench coat and matching hat.

"I _am_ Vault-Tec," the ghoul replied. "Twenty years of loyal service. And now look at me. I wasn't 'on the list'." His beady, black eyes widened, and he held an arm out to her. "But _you_! Look at you! Mrs. Addison Howard. Two hundred years and you're still perfect. How? How is that possible?"

Howard shifted uncomfortably. "Vault 111 had these pods that froze us in place. I only thawed out recently."

"What?" he began, jaw agape. "Vault-Tec never told me that! I swear it!"

"I believe you," she assured him.

"I had to get to the future the hard way," he said. "Living through the…filth! The decay! And the bloodshed!" He gave a sad sigh. "Look at me. I'm a ghoul. A _freak_."

Danse was inclined to agree with that, but Howard's brow wrinkled, lips pouting _sympathetically_.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know this must have been difficult for you. I didn't know this would happen."

He swallowed, the hideously puckered skin on his neck tightening. "You know, you're the only person I've met from before…" He shook his head. "Oh God, I've been so alone here! No Commonwealth settlement wants a ghoul with 200 years of Vault-Tec sales experience!"

She hesitated before stepping forward. "You could…You can come live at my settlement, if you wanted. It's at Sanctuary, where I used to live before the war. Where you signed me up to go to the Vault."

Danse made an exasperated sound. "Howard-,"

" _Really_?" the ghoul began, a smile breaking out on his face. "You mean it?"

"I do," she said. "I'll come visit. I promise."

"O-Okay!" he replied excitedly. "I'll head over right now! You promise you'll come visit, right?"

"I promise," she said again. "Here." She stepped forward to give him a _hug_. A short, polite one, but God, why did this woman constantly do things to endanger herself?

The ghoul's smiled widened, and he hugged her back tightly. "Thank you, Mrs. Howard. I won't let you down." He stepped back and secured the buttons of his trench coat. "I'll see you in Sanctuary!"

Howard waved to him, and he rushed past them both—probably wanted to get to the settlement as soon as possible before she changed her mind.

Danse frowned at her. "Was a hug really necessary?"

She threw her hand out. "Come on, that poor man probably hasn't had any kindness directed his way for decades. Probably no human contact either," she said. "I lost my husband and son a few _months_ ago and I already miss…I don't know, being _held_."

"Ghouls are dangerous," Danse insisted. "They could go feral at any moment and tear you to shreds. It would better to put that thing out of its misery."

"Oh don't exaggerate," Howard replied, then she made a disgusted sound. "I don't even know what you're doing here. I thought you'd left."

"Since you insist on continuing to remain in this incredibly dangerous neighborhood, I need to stay," he explained. "Though I would like to point out that I am not here to apologize for my…"

"Outburst?" she suggested.

Danse scowled. "Accessing Knight-Captain Cade's terminal was a _severe_ breach of protocol. Those are classified files, and the fact that you read mine is…"

Addison clenched her jaw. "I'm sorry, Danse," she said. "I didn't realize what I was reading until it was too late. I said something earlier because I'm…" She protectively crossed her arms. "I'm actually, unbelievably _worried_ about you. I thought we were…"

"The last thing you need to do is worry about me," Danse said.

Howard drummed her fingers against the molding of the door before her face contoured into an angry expression. "Forget it," she snapped. "I—just _forget it_."

She spun on her heel and marched into her hotel room—sparsely furnished and filthy.

"What is wrong with you?" Danse demanded.

Howard slung her pack onto the mattress. "I want a new sponsor," she declared.

"What?" he began incredulously. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I have _friends_ in the Commonwealth, you know," she said. "People who actually enjoy my company and don't just follow me around like a surly…bag of hammers!"

"A surly bag of…" Danse shook his head. "Are you upset with me, Knight?"

She massaged her temple with two fingers. "I kept telling myself that I could tolerate you because of how helpful you are in combat, but then I realized…" She gave a short, breathy laugh. "There are other Brotherhood soldiers out there with power armor and a laser rifle who would probably be much more enjoyable to be around! Why do I need _you_ , specifically?"

Danse opened his mouth to speak—to explain to her how sponsorship in the Brotherhood ranks worked and how much of a risk he'd taken bringing her on, but instead he fell silent. He found himself… _hurt_ by her words.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Howard," he said. "I shall leave you."

Her brow rose in surprise at his reply, but she didn't speak. Just flopped down on the mattress beside her with her head bowed.

She shoved her rifle towards him on the bed. "You should take this back," she muttered. "I'm sorry I was such a disappointment."

"Keep it," he said. "Maybe it will keep you alive a little longer here." He opened one of the compartments in his power armor and tossed something that clunked against the rifle.

"Take these Vertibird signal grenades," he added. "Maxson gave them to me, but they will be more useful to you. Throw one whenever you need Brotherhood reinforcements. Perhaps they will prove more _tolerable_ than I was. I have every confidence you will become an exemplary soldier, Knight."

She stared at the grenades. "You don't have to lie anymore about what a good soldier you think I'll be," she said. "To be honest, I think half the reason you're so irritable is because you dislike me so much."

"That isn't true," he replied. "I have told you before that I'm hard on you because I want you to succeed."

She stood. "There is a difference between being _hard_ on someone and—and holding them at arm's length with a scowl. You told me we were supposed to be a _team_. This isn't boot-camp, Danse. We are together _constantly._ This is a special mission to me—to the _Brotherhood_ —and you have to learn to act outside the confines of strict military protocol."

"What does this have to do with you reading Cade's report on my health?" he asked.

Howard sighed. "I shouldn't have read his notes on you, but _you_ should have been honest the first time I asked you how you've been doing. There's nothing to be ashamed of. You might view me as your subordinate, but I could be a partner, at least for now while we search for the Institute."

A _partner_. Danse had never really viewed their relationship in that light because of how diminutive he'd been of Howard's skills. Partners were supposed to be equal, and he wondered how that could be possible when she could barely shoot a gun.

But it occurred to them they could instead be partners because they complimented each other, as opposites. Because Howard could talk her way out of any situation and made friends in a way that could pave valuable roads for the Brotherhood in the Commonwealth. Because her passion to find her son matched, and perhaps even surpassed, his passion for his work.

"Alright, Howard," he said. "I will do my best to…temper my behaviors. As your partner."

Her face broke into a smile. "Good," she replied. "I'm glad we could work things out. I apologize for my outburst, and I really mean that. You're very brave and ethical and principled and those are all good things. You should be proud of your work with the Brotherhood."

Danse had to keep himself from grinning with pride. "Well, you are…" He cleared his throat. "I'm only going to say this once, and then we will never speak of it again, okay?"

His fingers fluttered nervously in his suit. Another reason why he liked to remain in it so much. "I find myself often envious of your ability to communicate with others because that is clearly a skill that I lack. I'm well-liked in the Brotherhood because I produce results and follow orders, but you…well, people are drawn to your kindness and your optimism. I'm one of them."

Danse was afraid he'd said the wrong thing because Howard was silent after he finished. When he meekly lifted his gaze to her, she was smiling.

"Oh, Danse," she said. "That was wonderful."

He despised the fact that he was currently _blushing_. Or a little flushed and discombobulated, at the least.

"Er, well, that's—I mean, I'm satisfied to hear that you…" He went to run his hand through his hair before he realized he had power armor on. "You know what? I should sweep the building once through before we settle down. I'll go do that…now."

Danse hurried out of the room, intent on not engendering any more comradery between them. A partnership was good. Sufficient. He had learned his lesson about becoming emotionally invested in a person, and he would not make that mistake again.

Especially with someone in such a perilous situation as Howard.


	11. Chapter 11

Danse tried to sleep. He did. As always, his attempts failed—he was plagued by his concerns about his team, his nightmares, and he could hardly drift off when there was a sharp pain right between his temples for hours on end.

Because of his difficulties, he left their room in Hotel Rexford early. Another reason for his departure was his desire to give Howard some privacy. She had nightmares often too, and was sometimes…emotional after she woke up. Or that's what he surmised from the fact that most mornings when they met up her eyes were puffy and red. Seeing as Danse had _zero_ ability to grapple with such emotional issues, he preferred to leave her alone.

He attempted to contact the Brotherhood to update them about Howard's progress. He also received a message from Ingram—Howard's power armor would need a few more days to be ready for use. It might not be a problem if they didn't absolutely _need_ the suit to get across the Glowing Sea. Howard would be cooked from the inside out without it, and yet she was so stubborn she'd probably try to make the trip anyway.

Danse returned to the front of Hotel Rexford—safety still off—and spotted Howard on the sidewalk. She spoke with her hands, her posture open and friendly, to a wiry man with a sniper rifle strapped to his back.

He crossed the road with a look of consternation. "Howard-,"

She turned and smiled at him. "Oh! There you are. I was wondering where you'd went."

"Who is this man?" he asked her.

Howard nodded. "Right, I'm sorry. How rude of me." She gestured towards the man. "This is Robert MacCready. He's a sniper, and he agreed to help train me. We met last night before I got our room."

Danse inspected the man, in a jacket far too ratty to even be considered clothing, though he was well-armed. Danse did not want to know what Howard had done to come across this man. "You shouldn't keep going around trying to make friends in Goodneighbor," he pointed out.

"Oh, we're not friends," MacCready interjected. "Though I will admit that this is the first time someone has asked me to _teach_ them to shoot a rifle rather than just utilize my services normally."

"Your services?" Danse began incredulously. "Are you…" He looked over at Howard. "Is he a mercenary?"

"Well…" She shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose that's _one_ way to put it-,"

"You _paid_ this man to come with us?" he asked exasperatedly. "How could you-,"

Howard huffed. "They're _my_ caps, Danse."

"I thought you would know to be more responsible than this," he insisted.

"Whoa, hey," MacCready interjected. "I might be a mercenary, but I'm not in the business of betraying people who pay me. For now, this lady's the boss."

"See?" she said brightly. "It's fine."

Danse sharply exhaled. She'd already given this man her caps, and he wasn't going to return them. He might as well perform his services as expected.

"Alright, Howard," he said. "Though the next time you are tempted to do something like this, perhaps you should consult me first."

"Okay," she replied. "But you could be nicer about it."

Danse highly doubted that, but Howard spoke again before he could say anything. "What were you doing this morning anyway?"

"I have bad news," he replied. "I received a message from Ingram, and your power armor won't be ready for a few more days."

Howard's smile faded into a pout. "Oh," she said. "Do you think we could-,"

"No, Howard, I don't think we could go to the Glowing Sea anyway," Danse cut in. "It's not possible, and it would be reckless to even try it. We should return to Sanctuary. The more you practice with your weapons, the more equipped you will be when your armor is ready."

Howard crossed her arms, contemplating with an irritated crease in her brow. She finally sighed. "I suppose you have a point," she admitted. "I can work with Robert until then."

Danse felt his lips twist into a scowl. "I'll be watching you," he said.

"Sorry, pal, I can't hear you over all that clanking," MacCready replied with a smirk.

Danse looked over at Howard to further demonstrate his displeasure. He could tell she was trying to hold back a laugh. "I will go get supplies for us," he said evenly. "Be ready with your things when I return."

Howard just nodded to him, but Danse heard MacCready speak as soon as he crossed the street.

"You weren't kidding about him," the mercenary said.

"He means well," Howard replied hurriedly.

Danse threw a glare back in their direction. He did not need Howard making excuses for him to civilians. Like _he_ was being the unreasonable one. It was perfectly logical for him to be upset that she approached a total stranger and dispensed who knew how many caps to hire him. This MacCready _killed_ people for a living, and Howard treated him as if he was a friendly person she'd run into in one of those pre-war supermarkets. But this was the _post_ -war Commonwealth, and people were no longer good. If they even were to start with.

* * *

For the first time ever, Danse and Howard's trip to Sanctuary was not made in silence. It was by no doing of Danse's—he still walked along without a word, like he always did, diligently patrolling the area around them for hostiles.

Howard spoke with MacCready most of the way. She was good at talking to people. She seemed to have a genuine interest in the business of others from the number of questions she asked.

When they returned to Sanctuary, Howard was greeted by the other settlers with a consistently high degree of enthusiasm. Danse peeled away from her and MacCready to tinker with his armor because he had no desire to socialize or further police her. If she wanted to trust this mercenary to train her, she could take that risk. He begrudgingly admitted that the mercenary was likely more equipped than Danse to teach her.

Danse was often too absorbed in his work to realize how much time was passing. After adjusting pieces here and there, giving the whole set of armor a good cleaning, and buffing out feral scratches, the sky around him was significantly darker.

The sun was sinking fast into the horizon, and Danse stood to scan the settlement for Howard to ensure she'd returned safely. He did not see her, but just as he stepped off the driveway into the brittle grass, he heard a voice from behind the house.

"Come on, Howard! Get your fists up!"

Danse rounded the corner and saw Howard circling her friend. The young red-headed woman who the word _surly_ did not even begin to describe. Cait.

Howard had met Cait before she ever joined the Brotherhood—apparently Howard had thought it was a good idea to wander into a place called the _Combat Zone_ and make some friends.

There was sweat gathered on Howard's brow and the collar of her shirt. Cait looked no more disheveled than usual. Danse imagined that any sparring between them was not too taxing on Cait. The muscles in her arms and the fierce glint in her eyes made it clear she'd defeated opponents much bigger and stronger than Howard.

"I want to try one last thing with ya," Cait said. "You're not going to like it."

Howard lowered her fists. "If you think it will make me a better fighter, I'll do it," she replied. "I need all the help I can get."

"The easiest fights in the ring were against meat-headed dolts who couldn't take a punch," she said. "Their muscles would be bigger than me head, but hit 'em once and the shock and the pain made 'em weak."

Howard furrowed her brow. "So…"

"What I'm sayin' is that you need to get used to being knocked around a little," Cait replied impatiently. "You go hand-to-hand with a Raider, and you're gonna have to throw more than one punch. Prissy thing like you won't stand a fightin' chance."

She frowned slightly, only half her face visible in the fading light. "I'm not _that_ -,"

Cait threw an impressively swift punch that collided with Howard's face. A panicked squeak left her, and the force from the blow made her crumple to the ground immediately with her hands covering her face.

" _Hey_!" Danse snapped from the side of the house as he jogged forward. "What the hell was-,"

Cait had completely ignored him and was standing over Howard. "Come on, you coward!" she exclaimed. "Get up! Get that polite arse of yours up and fight!"

Howard was flailing on the ground, still reeling from the hit, as blood trickled between her fingers.

"You hurt her," Danse said angrily, and Cait finally turned her steely gaze to him.

"Course I did," she spat. "That's what the Commonwealth will do to her when her big dumb boyfriend ain't around to save her!"

Danse clenched his jaw tight. "I am not her dumb boyfriend."

"So just her big boyfriend then?" Cait snapped back.

Danse did not reply because Howard had scrambled to her feet. The front of her shirt was speckled with blood now like her chin. Cait had hit her hard and busted her lip.

"Took ya long enough," she said harshly. "Raider won't wait for ya to primp up that hair of yours-,"

Howard swung at her with fairly good form, but Cait jerked back and her fist just missed her face. Cait did not even look surprised.

"That's enough," Danse interjected.

"I wasn't goin' to hit her again," Cait said dismissively. "She needed to learn."

Howard ran the back of her hand across her chin, blotting the blood with her sleeve. "I-I'm fine," she said, though her eyes were glassy. "Cait was right. I can't…be down for the count after one hit."

"She could have been a little less aggressive about it," Danse insisted.

Howard ran her tongue across her teeth—they were pink from the blood—probably to see if she was missing any. "I didn't ask Cait to help me learn how to fight because I thought she'd be nice to me," she said.

"I was the best in the Combat Zone, and I'm the best here," Cait said. "I could even kick his arse if I wanted to."

Cait was pointing at _him_ and his brow rose in surprise. "I can assure you that the Brotherhood trained me very well in hand-to-hand combat."

Cait just snorted, while Howard put her palm back against her lip to stop the bleeding. "I should take care of this," she said. "Thanks for your help, Cait. If you ever need anything, let me know."

Cait gave a surprisingly loud noise of disgust—she of all people was most annoyed by Howard's politeness considering how crass she was in contrast.

"You shouldn't have hit her," Danse said again.

"Is that what ya think?" she asked. "You can't protect her from everything out here, you know. There's too much _bad_ in this fucking place."

"Howard is a member of the Brotherhood, and I have a duty to ensure her safety," Danse replied.

"You keep tellin' yourself that," Cait said with a snort.

"What are you-,"

He stopped because she had turned on her heel and began walking back through the grass to the house. Danse fidgeted nervously, thankful for the darkness hiding it because Howard had too many companions who would incessantly tease him otherwise.

Howard had disappeared into her house as the light faded further from the sky. He wondered what Cait could say to the fact that Danse had an intense urge to follow her.

* * *

Addison had never been severely injured growing up. Not even once. She was far too obedient, far too _sheltered_ , to have been a wild child breaking her arm from a fall from a tree or getting a sports-related injury. The most painful thing that had happened to her was giving birth to Shaun. It hurt so badly that for the first time ever she swore at Nate and told him she was _never_ having another child. She had been right about that, apparently.

Addison tried to use the last remnants of light to do something about her wound. But there were hardly any intact mirrors anymore, so she just had to feel around and hope she was pressing the gauze against the right spot.

There was a lot of blood. But after she'd broken her nose with her shotgun months ago, Addison learned that the face bled profusely even from wounds that weren't serious. At least, she was hoping that Cait had not done any severe harm to her.

She heard footsteps by the door, accompanied by the click of Dogmeat's paws. It was Danse, staring at her through the hole in the wall in his orange Brotherhood jumpsuit.

"Let me help you, Knight," he said.

Addison walked out into the main room and sat down in the chair he motioned her towards. Danse turned his own chair around so he could straddle the back of it and sit across from her, perhaps in an attempt to still maintain a barrier between them.

"Thank you," she said, as she pulled the blood-soaked cloth in her hand away.

Danse leaned closer, and she felt his thumb press against the skin just under her lip. He pulled down slightly to give himself a better view.

"Something on her hand must have cut you," he remarked.

"Her gloves have some metal on them," Addison said. "Is it deep?"

Danse turned her head, steering with his hand again. "You shouldn't need stitches. Close to needing them, though. Would you like a Stim-pak?"

"No," she said, even though she wanted her answer to be an emphatic _yes_. "That would be a waste."

"I'll at least clean it out," Danse said. "Who knows what Cait has on her gloves." He climbed up from the chair and walked over to the island. Addison put the gauze back on her face and watched him gather some bottle and more bandages. Dogmeat was on his customary spot across the room on the couch, apparently satisfied with Danse's supervision over her.

He sat back down and gestured for her to move her hand. "Would it—that is, I don't want to invade your personal space without permission. Could I…?"

"Do whatever you need, Danse."

He cleared his throat and nodded. He did not move right away, though—his hand rose slightly from him side, like he was contemplating the _precise_ way to touch her in the least invasive way possible.

She almost said something before his hand came to rest lightly along the line of her jaw. She thought it was an odd place to hold her at first, before he dabbed her wound with the wet cloth. She hissed in pain and tried to jerk away, but his fingers tightened their grip just before the line of her hair while his palm pressed into her jaw.

"That _hurt_ ," she said, and she _hated_ that her voice wobbled.

"I'm not the one who hit you," Danse pointed out. "Nor did I tell you that you had to _thank_ her after she hit you."

Addison clenched her jaw tight to try and stop the throbbing pain. "I wasn't thanking for her that," she eventually said. "Cait is doing me a favor by agreeing to teach me to fight, especially because she does not seem to like me very much."

"I find it hard to believe that someone wouldn't like you," Danse replied absently. He was looking at her lip rather than her eyes, but his brow furrowed. "I, er—only meant by that—you just seem to get along well with most people. From an objective perspective."

Addison could not smile because he was trying to clean her split lip, but she would have. She considered teasing him about it. Before she could, he was leaning back and handing her a clean cloth.

"Use this," he ordered. "The bleeding has already mostly stopped but it's best to be careful."

"Thank you," Addison said as she took the gauze from him. She was hesitant to press it to her lip and gave a small sigh when she did. "Today I was trained with a sniper rifle _and_ in hand-to-hand, and I'm not any good at either."

"Your time with that mercenary wasn't well spent?" he asked.

"No," she said. "It was helpful, but Robert simply said I had no natural ability like he has." She rested her chin on her hand. "It's a shame no one in the Commonwealth needs a charity function organized or a country club party attended."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you really want back from your life before?"

"Of course not," Addison replied immediately. "I hated all those things. But I was _good_ at them, at least."

Danse studied her for a moment. "What did you _actually_ like to do before the war, then?"

She flushed red and looked away. He surely did not want to know of all her hobbies that had been ferreted away after years of control from her mother. Though he'd probably already noticed all the pencils she hoarded.

"I didn't…really have any hobbies. I mean, I liked taking care of Shaun. And spending time with Nate. We went to the park a lot, but, um, I didn't have anything that I…did for myself."

"Even now you're only concerned with avenging your husband and finding Shaun," he replied. "Rather than building a life for yourself."

Addison's brow wrinkled in surprise and her eyes snapped around to him. Before she could speak, he was standing and stepping back.

"I apologize," he said. "I overstepped."

Addison considered getting angry at him, but he had a point. Her lips just pursed tightly together—pain shooting through her wound for it—and her gaze dropped to the floor.

"I never knew who I was _before_ the bombs fell," she said. "I don't know who the hell I'm supposed to be now. Other than Shaun's mother."

"You need to be tougher, certainly," Danse replied.

Addison stood, sadness making her throat tighten. If she stayed a moment longer, she knew the tears would start to spring up in front of him.

It was frustrating because she was trying as hard as she physically _could_ to be tough. And it didn't seem to matter. She wasn't a fighter, a sniper, a soldier—she was still just the demure and obedient Boston socialite who'd abandoned her law career. The kind of person the Commonwealth chewed up and spit out in one fell swoop.

"Goodnight, Danse," she murmured.

She threw a glance in his direction and noticed him nervously rubbing his fingers together. Perhaps he'd realized that she was upset? Even if he did realize it, he said nothing and let her disappear into the hallway and then to her room.

She laid down on her hard cot, staring up past the holes in her roof, and wished that the version of herself that emerged from Vault 111 wasn't so much like the person she'd been before the bombs fell.


	12. Chapter 12

Danse and Addison left for the Prydwen after a few days working in Sanctuary. They made some supply runs to other settlements—sometimes defending them, too—and it gave Addison extra practice before they headed into the Glowing Sea.

It was only her and Danse on the trip because Dogmeat could not go through the radiation clouds unprotected. The Brotherhood of Steel didn't make armor for dogs, though Addison wished they did. Having Dogmeat around provided comfort to her that Danse certainly couldn't.

Getting used to wearing power armor was a separate issue for Addison. It was heavy, it made her sweat, and she felt even clumsier as a soldier than she normally did. Still, the armor kept her upright and hurt her ribs much less than normal movements did.

Their walk all the way to the Glowing Sea was certainly one way to adapt to the armor. Addison and Danse trudged along in silence most of the way. He had hardly spoken to her after their discussion the night before. Although, that wasn't entirely unusual considering that Danse rarely ever talked to her at all.

They traveled west for most of the day, encountering a fair number of hostiles that they had to mow through. Addison was surprised at how useful the power armor was, despite its cumbersome nature. She could take fire without being injured, but also tended to draw fire because of how much she stuck out in the landscape of the Commonwealth.

Near nightfall, they were south of Fort Hagen, past the Poseidon Reservoir, and trekking through the small hills beside a massive lake. Addison did not remember that lake existing before the war—there must have been a massive amount of erosion in the past two hundred years to create it.

Addison looked up at the sky. It was harder to see through the lens in her helmet, but she could tell it was getting dark.

"We should find somewhere to stay for the night," she said. "The Glowing Sea would probably be a better task for the morning."

Danse stopped beside her and looked around. "Good idea."

She pointed across the way, where she could just make out the red metal roof of a one- story building. "That could give us some shelter," she said.

Addison began marching across the grass, but she did not hear Danse's armor clanking in rhythm with hers.

"Howard," he said.

She stopped and only turned her head to look at him, and he quickly explained himself.

"You can't just approach a building like that without first determining if it is occupied by hostiles."

Addison sighed, thinking that he was just trying to be obnoxious, before he pointed to the roof and a shadow moved across it.

"Oh," she said.

Addison pulled off her helmet and let it plunk to the ground. She raised her rifle and peered through the scope.

Her heart skipped a few beats when she spotted a Raider on the roof—he had a rocket launcher rested on his shoulder.

"Good call on scanning the area," Addison remarked, attempting nonchalance. She did not like to think about the fact that without Danse's guidance she would probably be dead. "There are Raiders there. Well-armed."

"I was trained extensively to do this sort of thing, you know," Danse replied. "I'm trying to teach _you_."

"Let's see how that goes," she muttered under her breath.

Addison settled the cross-hairs of her scope over the man on the roof. She wished people she was trying to shoot didn't _move_ so much.

They waited in silence as her finger hovered over the trigger. She heard the grass brushing against her boots and Danse's breathing just behind her.

There was sweat gathering on her upper lip—she was scared to commit to a shot, she knew that. A few seconds later, she pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed loud through the empty space around them, whizzing towards the building—and _missing_.

"Damn _it_ ," Addison hissed. The Raider spun around at the sound of the noise, and she fired again, this time hitting him in the chest and sending him falling off the roof, the rocket launcher clattering after him.

Addison looked down and began frantically trying to reload—she had been practicing incessantly with Robert, so she was a little better.

"I got the one on the roof," she said as she raised the rifle back to her eye. "Let me see if there are more. We have pretty good cover from here."

"Be careful," Danse said.

Addison scanned the ground—the building was actually an old motel with some barricades erected around it. She spotted another Raider as he hurried through the threshold, searching the horizon for them. In her power armor, she knew she would be spotted eventually.

"Howard, I can-,"

"I've got it," she interjected hastily. "I do."

She straightened her rifle against her shoulder and took a deep breath. The Raider was standing still, but only partially visible because of the barbed wire.

Addison fired twice—again—because her first shot only hit his shoulder. Her second proved fatal, though she knew she would get some lecture from Danse about preserving her ammunition.

Another Raider emerged from the back room, but this one was in power armor. The man spotted them immediately, and Addison ducked down when a bullet slammed into the spindly tree beside her.

"There's one in power armor," she said. "And I think he's coming over here."

Danse lifted his laser rifle. "I will draw him towards me. You stay here and continue to target the building for other hostiles. If you're in danger, just—scream."

She threw him a skeptical look as he disappeared down the hill. A bullet ricocheted off her armor and she spun back around to the hotel. She staggered behind one of the thin trees and raised her scope to her eye.

The man shooting at her with a pipe pistol was crouching behind a barricade. Rather than firing, Addison waited, watching as the man's hat shot in and out of her view. She settled her cross-hairs where she thought he would peek out and held her breath.

The minute she spotted any movement, her finger pulled the trigger. Blood splattered across the barricade and the man slumped to the ground.

She kept her gun to her shoulder and let out the breath she'd been holding. She wished she could be more excited about hitting her target in one shot. Except that her target was a living, breathing human being.

She heard Danse's voice down the hill. "Howard. Report."

Addison lowered her rifle. "I'm fine. I don't see any more Raiders at the hotel."

"Affirmative," he said. "We will approach with caution."

She retrieved her helmet from the ground and carefully climbed down the hill after Danse, past the dead Raider in power armor. The sky was quickly darkening around her as she approached.

Danse poked his head out of one of the rooms. "I think we're all clear. We can camp here for the night."

Addison surveyed the old motel—the metal roof was mostly intact, but excepting the lobby area to her left and one room, the building itself was walled-off or destroyed.

She walked into the room Danse was in—there was not much left of it except a queen-sized bed, a few pillows, and a crate the Raiders had left behind full of supplies.

Addison exited her armor and circled the room to gather the pillows.

"I'll take the first watch," Danse remarked.

"The _whole_ watch, you mean?" she began with a raised brow. "We have a big day tomorrow. You should rest." She looked around and tapped her chin. "This place is pretty tucked away. We could both sleep at the same time."

"There's only one bed," Danse blurted out. He shuffled back in his armor. "And—and regardless, I should keep watch. It's protocol. I-I'll be outside."

Danse clopped out of the room as quickly as he could manage in his armor, and Addison put one hand on her hip with her brow furrowed.

What exactly was Danse so nervous about? She hadn't meant to imply anything from the suggestion that they both sleep—she just thought he might appreciate being in a bed seeing as that happened so rarely.

He couldn't _possibly_ think she was trying to make some…romantic gesture. Sometimes she still thought she was married and had to remind herself that Nate was gone. She still wore his ring, on top of that. She had no interest in anyone else right now. Maybe not ever.

Addison walked over to her power armor and opened one of the compartments. She tucked a box of Fancy Lad Cakes under her arm while walking outside. It was completely dark by now, a blanket of stars above them that she never saw back before the bombs fell.

Danse was standing near one of the barricades. She placed the cakes next to him.

"Here," she said. "In case you get hungry."

He looked over and cleared his throat. "Oh—thank you, Howard."

Addison gave him a wan smile and turned back towards the hotel room. She heard the metal of Danse's armor clank together.

"Howard," he said, as he craned his neck around slightly. "About the other day…"

She stopped and furrowed her brow. "What about it?"

Danse looked at the ground for a moment before he faced her. "Our conversation, when I was helping you with your injury from Cait—I, uh, should have done better."

She shook her head. "You didn't do anything wrong, Danse."

"I did," he replied. "It is my duty as your sponsor to ensure more than your physical safety. It's just as important that you remain mentally stable."

Addison didn't know if she should be annoyed about his constant references to her physical and mental abilities as a _soldier_ , or if she should forgive him because he was simply using that language to frame other more personal concerns.

"I don't understand," she said.

Danse exhaled. "I see that…" He trailed off and swallowed. "I mean, I know that you cry in the mornings and have nightmares. I've noticed that you're frustrated about your progress training and…" He lifted both arms in a defeated gesture. "Well, I just don't know what to do about it. I don't want you to suffer."

Addison's brow rose. She hadn't thought for a second that Danse cared about her personal struggles that had nothing to do with the Brotherhood. Wasn't she just another soldier to him?

"Danse…" She pushed her hair behind her ear. "We're _all_ suffering. I mean, just look at this place," she said, as she raised her arm to the hopeless destruction all around them.

"I know," he insisted. "But you said we were partners, and I feel as if I'm not doing my…well, _part_."

Addison sighed and sat on the barricade near him. "It's enough that you're expressing concern, Danse. There's nothing anyone can do to fix how I'm feeling. It just takes time."

"I hope you forgive my unfamiliarity with these issues," he said. "But know that I will try my best to help. As your sponsor."

Addison looked over at him and smiled slightly. "Thanks, Danse."

She stood and absently patted one of the pieces of his armor, which seemed like a silly gesture considering he couldn't even feel the contact. Though maybe he preferred it that way.

"You are welcome, soldier," he replied.

As she walked into the room with the bed, she heard the crinkling of plastic as Danse unwrapped his cakes. At least she was getting _one_ thing right with him.

* * *

The next morning, Danse became more nervous the closer they got to the Glowing Sea. Howard had not been a resident of the Commonwealth her whole life, like he had. Radiation exposure was fairly common, yet in her world it hadn't been. What if the suit wasn't enough to protect her? Or what if something malfunctioned when they were deep in the radiation cloud?

This was a dangerous— _insane_ —mission. On top of the danger in the very air, who knew what sort of creatures lurked around? Nothing friendly, to be sure.

Danse did not express his concerns to Howard. He just walked along quietly, determined to remain vigilant the closer they were to the Glowing Sea. He was tired, but he could power through it.

He'd let Howard sleep the entire night again. He had _actually_ tried to change shifts, but when he'd entered her room and seen her sleeping on the bed, he froze up again like he had hours before. He didn't want to approach her in that bed or shake her awake. For whatever reason, he'd become acutely aware of their situation: his sponsorship of her involved stretches of time traveling alone together, sleeping in close quarters, sharing food. It was different from how he had been trained as an Initiate and certainly how his team had operated when he was a Knight.

Danse would have to be particularly careful not to encourage any inappropriate comradery between them. He'd already agreed to be her partner rather than her superior. It would be highly against protocol for him to allow anything beyond that.

"I think we're close," Howard said from beside him. He heard his own Geiger counter clicking and nodded.

"Be careful."

The Glowing Sea was only a _sea_ in the sense that the intense radiation had washed away any semblance of vegetation or life in the area. While most plants in the Commonwealth were dead or barely hanging to life, there was _nothing_ in the Glowing Sea. It was a long, dry plain of desecrated land, parts of it hardly visible because of the noxious clouds of radiation.

Danse started to think they were on a wild goose chase. How could _anyone_ survive out here? Surely this Virgil character could not be subsisting in this place.

They walked far into the radiation, his Geiger counter softly clicking every few seconds over the sound of his armor clanking and the wind blowing around them. Howard was trudging beside him with her helmet bowed towards the ground.

They reached a giant crater that made his counter click more frantically. He ignored the warning because he spotted _people_ milling around below him between ramshackle huts. They were dressed in rags, barefoot, and he was discerning if they were hostile when he heard Howard clopping down the hill towards him.

"Soldier!" he exclaimed, but she was far enough away that she could not hear him.

He hurried after her, but by the time he reached her, she was already talking to one of the people nearby and—and getting exactly the information she needed. Damn that woman and her ability to make contacts even when wearing a giant suit of power armor.

"They say Virgil lives in a cave just over there," Howard said, as she pointed behind the dilapidated huts and up over the crater.

She started walking right away, and Danse hurried after her. "Be more vigilant out here, Knight," he ordered. "I don't want to see you running up to the next person we see in this terrible place."

Howard lost her footing and sent rocks skidding down past him on the slope they were on. She caught herself with her hands, and he expected her to push herself up. Instead, she froze and stayed close to the ground.

Danse reached her and looked down. "What-,"

"Look," she hissed, and she pointed with one hand down the hill and to another crater. He spotted the cave that Howard had referenced, and then through the sickly green fog, a deathclaw lumbering a few feet away from it.

Danse's heart skittered to a nervous stop for a few terrifying seconds. There were not many things he was afraid of in the Commonwealth. He could handle synths, ferals, super mutants—but deathclaws? Those were _never_ a good sign.

"What do we do?" Howard asked softly.

Danse stayed very still. If they fought the deathclaw and one of their sets of power armor was damaged, that would be _very_ bad news. They were deep in the Glowing Sea and getting back without armor would be dangerous.

But having made it all this way, would Howard really be convinced that she should turn back?

"Wait here for now," Danse said. "Maybe it will wander off. If it doesn't…" He clenched his jaw. "Throw everything you've got at it, and run if you have to. I'll distract it."

"You don't think we can kill it?" she asked.

"Maybe," he replied. "But it's a risk in this environment. Plus, the ones I've killed in the past have been with an entire squad of well-trained Brotherhood soldiers."

Howard shifted, trying to be as quiet as possible. "And I am not the definition of well-trained."

"I didn't-,"

Danse heard a blood-curling screech from across the crater. The deathclaw leveled its head in their direction, beady black eyes hardly visible through the radiation.

Howard's voice was higher from panic. "Danse-,"

The deathclaw began barreling towards them, its weight making the ground rumble underneath them.

"Grenade, Howard!" he exclaimed, as he extracted one from his power armor and hurled it towards the deathclaw. She followed his lead—his projectile was more precisely aimed than hers, but they both rolled on the ground and exploded as soon as the deathclaw passed.

Danse shielded his eyes from the bright light, and dirt blew past them from the force of the blow, pushing him back slightly. There was a dead silence after everything settled, the deathclaw laying on its side with its massive tail curled around it.

Danse thought for a moment they had actually succeeded, but the deathclaw began to shift and growl until it pushed itself back onto its feet.

"Oh no," Howard said.

Danse immediately began firing with his laser rifle, concentrating his fire on the deathclaw's belly. He made contact with almost every shot, but the deathclaw's hardened scales likely meant he was doing little damage.

"Soldier, _run_ ," he ordered. "Down the hill, right now."

The deathclaw screeched again as it got closer, and Danse ran in the opposite direction of Howard, looking for cover. He let off a few more shots, but the bumpy terrain and his armor did not allow him to run fast.

He hit the deathclaw in the face, the red bolt making it stagger back and shake its horns. The next thing Danse knew, the deathclaw was upon him, rearing up its massive clawed arm and swiping at him.

He felt himself being lifted in the air, his chest compressed as the deathclaw held him tight. He fired his rifle in close quarters; he emptied his clip into the deathclaw's chest and pulled up his legs to kick it hard in the chest to break from its grasp.

His plan worked, and he went tumbling to the ground, landing hard on his shoulder and rolling down the hill to the middle of the crater. He'd had enough training that he held tight to his gun. When he stopped and lifted his head, he was horrified to find that the deathclaw was lumbering along the ridge towards Howard.

He had ordered her to run, and she _hadn't_. He saw her armor silhouetted against the fog, unmoving as the deathclaw approached her. What the _hell_ was she doing? Why wasn't she moving?

"Howard!" Danse shouted, as he staggered to his feet and fired again. He could not hurl another grenade because she'd get caught in the blast.

The deathclaw was weakened, its black-reddish blood streaming down its arm, but it still reared up and slammed its body hard into Howard. She went _flying_ across the ridge and collided with a large rock. At the same time, he heard the loud echo of a sniper rifle being fired once, then twice, then a third time.

The deathclaw recoiled from the shots, its body convulsing violently. Danse raised his rifle and targeted its head with his final rounds. It gave a final, gurgling cry before collapsing in a pile of dust, dead.

Danse was stunned for a few seconds, eyes settling on Howard's unmoving armor slumped against the rock.

"Soldier!" he shouted, and then sprinted up the crater towards her. God, he didn't understand why this woman had to keep getting hurt because of her _stupidity_.

He reached the ridge and hurried over to her. "Howard, are you-,"

"Danse!"

He heard her voice—from _behind_ him—and spun around with his rifle raised. Howard, holding her sniper rifle and out of her armor, was running towards him. Through noxious clouds of radiation. Without _any_ protection. She'd purposely left it for some reason, but he did not care why at the moment.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" he demanded angrily.

She stopped with a frightened look and stepped back. "I was-,"

"I told you that under no circumstances were you to leave your armor," he snapped. "You are being cooked inside out by the radiation, and we will have to-,"

"I had Rad-X," she interjected.

"It's likely not strong enough," he replied sharply. His heart was still hammering in his chest from the adrenaline. He was—he was _angry_. He was doing his damnedest to keep Howard safe, and she continued to endanger herself with impunity.

"I am tired of you disregarding every _single_ order I give you," he growled. "I am trying so hard to keep you alive and you keep screwing up. You are getting _hurt_ and still flouncing around-,"

"Danse!" she interrupted exasperatedly. "Help me with my armor so I can get back into it!"

He exhaled sharply with frustration and spun around to her armor. It was dented, but not completely destroyed like he feared. He bent down and pulled the armor up to a standing position. Howard hurried behind it and cranked the wheel so it opened. She stepped inside.

"I will visit a doctor to see if I've been exposed to a lot of radiation," she said. "I don't understand why you're so angry."

"It doesn't matter," he snapped. "Let's go."

Danse slid down the slope towards the cave, still stewing. Yes, he knew he shouldn't have berated Howard like that, but he was _exhausted_ after all these…emotional reactions he was having when Howard put herself in danger. He'd lost too many of his men in Gladius to lose her too. He wasn't proving himself to be the Paladin that Maxson expected him to be. He wasn't sure that explained why he had just lost his temper, but he would not concern himself with that for now.

* * *

Danse was not usually an irrational person, so Addison was more confused than anything when he lost his temper with her. She had thought her plan to distract the deathclaw with her empty armor had been a good one. It let her line up her shot and hit the beast right in its brain.

Danse did not agree. He was so angry he preferred to shout at her rather than let her return to the safety of her armor. She had taken two doses of Rad-X out of the armor, but that didn't mean it was effective. Danse knew that, and yet he let his emotions control him. Or maybe he was just frustrated with her lack of military prowess.

They headed across the crater and into Virgil's cave. There were turrets in the front room and other forms of enemy detection that made Danse hold his laser rifle tight to his chest.

The cavern opened up into a larger room that was cluttered with tables and computers and other living supplies. Down a small rock slope was a _super mutant_.

Addison stopped immediately with her brow furrowed. The super mutant noticed and scowled.

"Hold it right there," he ordered, his voice deep and scratchy like other super mutants. "Take it nice and slow. No sudden moves."

Addison raised her hands and moved them up to take off her helmet. "We're not here to hurt you," she said. "Are you Dr. Virgil?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Like you don't already know that. I know you're from the Institute, so where's Kellogg?"

"Take it easy," she replied. "My name is Addison Howard, and I need your help. Kellogg is dead."

Virgil shook his head in disbelief. "Dead? He's…dead." He pointed abruptly at her. "Don't you lie to me!"

"I'm not lying," Addison insisted. "I'm the one who killed him."

His brow rose. "Did you now?" he began. "Kellogg was ruthless. There's a reason the Institute used him to do their dirty work for so long. I knew they'd send him after me. If you killed him, what are you doing here?"

Addison stepped out of her armor—Danse made a noise of protest that she ignored—and circled around it. "I know you were part of the Institute and that you escaped," she said.

"How the hell do you know any of that?" he demanded, before he turned sideways with a frustrated sound. "No, it doesn't matter. I'm not going back. I can't go back!" He gestured to his hulking, green frame. "Look at me!"

Addison raised both hands—being trapped in this cave for so long had obviously made this man a little paranoid. "Just relax, Virgil," she said. "I'm not trying to make you go back. I'm looking for information. Anything you've got to help me get into the Institute."

He paused with an incredulous look. "I'm sorry, what?" he began. "You want to get into the _Institute_? Are you insane?"

"It's very important that I get there," Addison replied.

Virgil began pacing and threw up his arm. "Never mind how _impossible_ that is," he said. "Even _if_ you were to succeed, it would most certainly end in your immediate death. What reason could you possibly have for taking that kind of risk?"

Addison swallowed. "I'm trying to find my son. The Institute kidnapped him."

Virgil stopped. "Oh—oh no. I had no idea. I'm sorry," he said as he stepped closer. "If that's the case, I can help. But I'm going to need something in return."

She nodded. "You help me, and I'll help you."

Danse interjected from the entrance of the cave. "Howard you haven't even asked him what he _wants_."

She turned around to look at him. "It doesn't matter, Danse. I need his help."

"I think what I want is pretty reasonable," Virgil replied. "Before I was forced to leave the Institute, I was working on a serum that reversed this mutation. It could return me to normal. If you get in there, I need you to find it in my old office and bring it to me."

"Agreed," Addison said without hesitation. "Now what do I need to do to get in?"

Virgil walked the rest of the way over and crossed his massive arms. "Well first, do you know how synths get in and out of the Institute?"

"Teleportation," she said.

He looked surprise. "That's right. Not many know about it. Pretty closely-guarded secret," he said. "It's commonly referred to as the molecular relay. Dematerializes you in one place, rematerializes you in another. The relay is the _only_ way in and out of the Institute. That means you're going to have to use it. Have you ever seen an Institute Courser?"

"I…don't know what that is," Addison admitted.

"Coursers are Institute synths designed for one purpose: hunting," Virgil explained. "They're very good at what they do, and you're going to have to kill one."

Addison's posture visibly deflated. After that debacle with the deathclaw, she did not want to worry about killing anyone _else_. "Why?"

"They're your ticket in," Virgil said. "Every Courser has special hardware that gives them a direct connection to the relay. It's embedded in a chip in their heads."

"I…okay," Addison replied as she shook her head. "Where do I find one of these things?"

"I don't know where _exactly_ to find one, but the primary insertion point for Coursers is in the ruins of CIT. You'll want to head there. The relay causes some pretty heavy interference. You've got a radio on that Pip-Boy, don't you?" Virgil asked.

Addison lifted her arm with the Pip-Boy. "Yes I do."

Virgil gestured to it. "When you get to the ruins, tune into the lower end of the band and listen. You'll be able to hear the interference. Follow the signal to the Courser, and you'll just have to—not get killed."

Addison only nodded, while she felt Virgil looking her up and down with a skeptical expression. The tiny gold-framed glasses he wore slid down his nose slightly.

"I'm not going to lie," he admitted. "The odds are not in your favor here. Coursers are trained to be the best at what they do, and I don't know any human who has killed one. I…I really do hope you find what you're looking for."

"Me too," Addison muttered.

Virgil gestured around him. "If you need any supplies, help yourself. I don't know what it takes to cross the Glowing Sea anymore, but I bet it wasn't easy."

"Thank you," she said. "I think I should…sit for a minute."

Addison found a flat piece of rock carved out of the cave and sat on it. She rested her elbows on her knees and then covered her face with her hands. She could feel her blood pulsing through her fingers.

Every damn stage of this quest of hers was so _violent_. So far out of her comfort zone it wasn't even funny. If Coursers were truly as dangerous as Virgil thought—and he would know—then she was screwed. Royally, absolutely done for.

How the hell was _she_ supposed to kill one of those things? It didn't seem like she could rely on Danse anymore, but even if she could, the Courser probably had some advanced Institute technology that would annihilate them both.

"Howard, we need to leave."

Danse was standing over her, but she kept her face in her hands. She wanted to cry, and if she moved, she probably would.

A few seconds of silence passed before Danse spoke again. "Howard? Are you—are you okay? Are you hurt?"

She let her arms drop and looked up at him with glassy eyes. "H-How am I supposed to…"

His brow wrinkled. "To what?"

"Kill this—this _Courser_ thing?" she began. "I-I can't. I mean, I'm so…unequipped and…" She rubbed her face with a faint sob. "I'm going to fail."

Danse pressed his lips together. "Perhaps."

Addison sniffled. "I just can't _quit_ either."

"You will get yourself killed doing that," Danse replied, then he made a gesture for her to stand. "Come, Howard. We shouldn't tarry here."

Addison wiped her eyes and stood. She passed Danse and did not speak to him because—well, she didn't know how she felt about him currently. He was confusing her, and she had little for that. No time, actually.

Because between now and some indefinite time in the future she somehow had to figure out how to kill a _Courser._


	13. Chapter 13

They made it out of the Glowing Sea by the end of the day. In silence, as usual. Except this time Addison was the one endorsing the habit. She no longer walked side-by-side with Danse nor made any comments about the landscape they passed. _Everything_ she did angered him—it's like he'd prefer for her to twiddle her thumbs in Sanctuary rather than do anything as a soldier, just because she was so inexperienced.

When they finally returned to Sanctuary, Danse offered to fix her armor. She declined, determined to do it herself since Danse seemed to believe that she wasn't capable of anything.

He disappeared for a long stretch of time that day, while Addison chatted with her other friends and found herself another dozen tasks. Everyone always needed _something_ from her. She did not mind, but she just wished her hardest task wasn't the one that hinged upon the fate of her son.

The next day, Addison was at the power armor station across from her house, trying her best to remove the dents from her armor and also attempting not to break anything.

"Howard."

Addison jerked her head up in surprise and turned in her crouching position. Danse was standing beside her on the grass; he was not wearing his power armor, which is why she was surprised—she could normally always hear him approaching.

"Could I speak to you for a moment?" he asked.

Addison regarded him warily, but stood anyway. "Of course. What do you need?"

He stepped up on the pavement and crossed his arms. "This is about Virgil's instructions. About killing the Courser."

"We don't have any alternatives," she said, as she watched him cross in front of her and lean against the table of tools.

"I understand that," he replied. "But given your performance, it would be incredibly risky for you to attempt to kill the Courser yourself."

"What are you saying?" she asked with a furrowed brow. "Can we get help?"

He nodded. "I've spoken to Elder Maxson, and obviously he has an interest in getting someone into the Institute. He's willing to send a unit down from the Prydwen to find the Courser."

She broke into a smile. "Danse, that's great news! With their help, I really think we could succeed."

He did not look as pleased. " _Maybe_. From the intelligence I've come across, Coursers are some of the most formidable opponents in the Commonwealth. They've been known to wipe out entire units of Raiders and super mutants."

"It will be fine," Addison insisted. "I know we can do it."

Danse looked down at his boots. He hesitated before he spoke. "It's not— _we_ , Howard."

She turned to him completely with a small frown. "What? Are—are you not coming?"

He sighed. " _You_ aren't coming."

Addison's jaw dropped slightly, and she stepped closer to him. "Danse, I don't understand. What are you saying?"

He straightened. "As your sponsor, I can choose to exclude you from dangerous missions for your own safety. And the safety of other soldiers. You're a liability, and someone could endanger themselves trying to protect you."

Addison exhaled angrily. "You're only saying that because _you_ are too over protective of me!"

"Overprotective?" he began incredulously. He then gestured out past the house. "Howard, you wouldn't survive ten seconds out there without me."

She clenched her fists. "Just because I'm not some big hulking— _brute_ in power armor doesn't mean I can't defend myself."

"Except that you _can't_ defend yourself!" he protested sharply.

"You can't stop me from doing what I need to do to find Shaun," she insisted.

Danse looked down his nose at her. "I can," he replied in a stern voice. "Howard, this is nothing personal. You are a member of the Brotherhood, and I am your superior. You will follow my orders or risk punishment."

Addison's hands lost tension, and she stepped back. "How could you do this to me, Danse?" she asked softly.

He was off-put by her reaction. "W-What?"

"I thought that—that you…" She rubbed the heel of her palm over her eyes. "You know how important finding my son is to me. You've seen _everything_ I've risked for it." She looked up at him and swallowed. "If you cared about me as a human being and not as a soldier, you would…you would let me come."

Danse shifted, clearly uncomfortable, but his expression eventually hardened.

"My orders stand, Knight."

Addison's eyes darted down to hide how watery they were. She did not understand how Danse could do this to her. In the name of _safety_. It was absurd. Why was he so damn overprotective?

She had to clear her throat before she spoke. "When are you and your team leaving to find the Courser?"

"In two days," Danse replied. "Ingram has made a portable radio for us, and we'll head to CIT with it."

Addison folded her arms over her chest, trying to make herself smaller. "I think you should leave my settlement and return to the Prydwen. I'm tired of your company."

"Please don't-,"

Her voice was shaky as she turned and stepped off the pavement. "Have a nice night, Paladin."

"Howard," Danse said, but she ignored him and kept marching through the grass back towards her house.

She was _mad_ at him. Really, actually _mad_. He had no right to exclude her from this mission, but he did anyway under the guise of the Brotherhood hierarchy. This was _her_ quest.

Addison reached her door and threw it open. She should go find the Courser _without_ him. Take—someone _else_ and kill it.

She knew that wasn't a possibility. And Danse knew it too. She simply didn't have enough skill in combat to be formidable against an opponent like that. Bringing someone along would only put _them_ in danger trying to keep her safe.

Addison sat on the tattered couch with her arms crossed, scowling. Danse had not followed her. He didn't care. He'd given his orders as a Paladin and expected her to follow them, like a good Brotherhood soldier.

Dogmeat trotted into the house and cocked his head. He could sense her anger because he leapt up on the couch and put his head in her lap. She ran her fingers between his ears and sighed.

"What am I supposed to do, boy?" she murmured.

Dogmeat rubbed his nose against her arm and looked up at her with his expressive eyes. The ones that somehow knew just what to say or what comfort to provide.

If Danse was not going to allow her to come along on his silly mission, then she was going to have to do something herself.

* * *

Danse did not second guess his decisions in the field. With the stakes as high as they were in the Commonwealth, he could not afford to do that. He'd made a decision about Howard's abilities in the field, and he needed to stick to it.

She _would_ die going up against a Courser. No information he had come across boded well for her in combat. He had decided it would be best for her—for the Brotherhood—to allow a highly-trained team of soldiers to get her what she needed. And instead of being happy or _relieved_ , she was mad at him.

It wasn't _his_ fault that she wasn't the most capable soldier. And he didn't blame her for it either, considering her lifestyle before she emerged from the Vault. That didn't mean he was going to endorse her throwing herself into danger around every corner.

Danse knew he could have done a better job broaching that topic with her. But he was not used to having to _coddle_ his soldiers—he gave orders, and they were followed. No questions asked.

Howard had questions. Anger. Accusations. She looked… _betrayed_. He didn't understand the problem completely, but he knew he should say something.

His admission to further speak to her did not mean he planned to follow her across the yard once she had stormed off. Instead, he figured it would be best to let her calm down overnight, and he would speak to her before he left in the morning.

He woke at sunrise after a terrible night of sleep—guilt _and_ nightmares, though he would never admit to the guilt. There was a thin layer of fog covering the ground when he left his cot, and he followed the road towards Howard's house.

The one just before hers was where most of the settlers modified their weapons and did work at the bench. Howard's power armor had been there the night before, but now it was gone.

He stopped with a wrinkle in his brow. He supposed she could have moved it, but he did not see the armor beside her door either, and she considered it _impolite_ to bring power armor inside.

Rather than worry about it, Danse checked her house—she wasn't there. Dogmeat was asleep on her bed, sprawled across the entire length of it.

He drummed his fingers against his thigh and then walked all the way down the road to the barricades erected in front of the bridge with two turrets. There was always a settler or one of Addison's companions nearby patrolling.

When he reached the edge of the settlement, he spotted Piper sitting with her cap tilted over her head and her feet propped up on the barricade. Danse reached her, and she peeked up from under her hat.

"Oh look," she said. "The tin can left his tin can."

"Hello, civilian," Danse replied. "I am looking for Howard. Have you seen her?"

Piper lifted up her feet and then put them on the ground to face him. "Why do you ask?"

He gestured behind him. "Her power armor is gone, and I don't see her anywhere in the settlement. I wanted to speak with her."

Piper spun around back to the bridge and pulled out a cigarette. It glowed orange as she lit it in the dreary air around them. "Can't say I've seen her."

Danse watched her for a few moments with a skeptical look. "You're lying. She must have passed you when she left."

"Why are you so worried about where she is?" Piper asked with her eyes narrowed slightly. "Concerned for her safety? Eager to cabin her off in her house and never let her leave?"

Danse was tired of people misconstruing his purpose in his capacity as Howard's sponsor. "It is my job to keep her safe. That's all."

Piper took one last drag of her cigarette and then flicked it to the ground. She stood and crushed the ember under her boots. "I tried to convince her to stay after she told me her plan," Piper said. "I tried to go with her. She wouldn't let me."

"What are you talking about?" Danse asked. "Her plan?"

Piper crossed her arms, looking less care-free than she normally did. "She's going to kill the Courser herself, Danse."

He let out a sound that maybe in some ways was a laugh—a sharp exhale of disbelief and shock. "What?" he began. "Why would—why didn't you _tell_ me so I could stop her?"

"Because as bad as I think her idea is, I don't think there's anything that could stop Addison from trying to find her son," Piper said. "And to be honest, I don't think you suffocating her under the guise of protection is helpful either."

Danse's heart was thrumming faster in his chest, and he clenched his jaw. "How could you let her _leave_?"

Piper snorted. "Because I can't control her like you think you can."

"I-," Danse stopped and made a frustrated sound. "I need to go after her." He glared at Piper. "If anything happens to her, I intend to blame you."

Piper shook her head and sighed. "Might need to look to yourself too, tin can."

Danse said nothing, just scowled and turned on his heel to hurry back down the road. He had _not_ expected Howard to be bold enough to leave on her own. Stupid, enough perhaps. What _exactly_ was her plan for the Courser? Going in, guns blazing, and try to kill it?

God, Howard could be dead already.

* * *

Addison almost turned back when she arrived in her power armor at the ruins of CIT. She realized just how crazy her plan was, but pushed forward anyway, following the soft beeps on her Pip-Boy that would lead her to the Courser.

She got even _closer_ to turning back when she reached the Greentech Genetics building that was _littered_ with Gunner bodies. The battle raging on the floors above sent dust everywhere, and the force reverberated through her power armor.

Normally, she would be glad that there were bodies around her as opposed to still-alive hostiles who could hurt her. But Gunners were elite mercenaries, and the Courser moving through the building _mowed_ through them.

Addison knew she was taking a risk. More than a risk. She was diving head-first into either the dumbest or most brilliant plan she'd ever had. While Danse and the Brotherhood viewed combat in a fairly narrow-minded way, there was more than one way for her to defeat her foes. That involved persuasion. And maybe an explosion.

Addison climbed up a final set of stairs that led to the top of the Greentech Genetics lab. She'd ascended seven or eight flights of stairs already, passing mangled Gunners and further fraying her nerves.

She heard the cool, monotonous timbre of the Courser as it spoke from around the corner.

"All he had to do was tell me the password. Now, are you going to cooperate?"

Addison exited her power armor, fiddled with the inside chest piece and then walked around the corner into the open chamber where the Courser was.

The Courser was wearing a sleek black leather outfit and pointing his plasma pistol at a cornered gunner. It turned to her with a blank expression.

"Are you here for the synth?" it asked.

Addison swallowed—this was it now; she'd made her choice about what she was going to. And if it failed, she was dead. The good news was, after years of attending parties and presenting a false version of herself to the world, she was good at faking it.

"No," she said. "I work for the Institute, like you. My name is Dr. Howard. I'm at an above-ground installation." She gestured to her clothes. "Hence the outfit. There's been some problems with the molecular relay. We've got Coursers rematerializing in the wrong spots. The software in their chips are malfunctioning."

The Courser lowered his gun. "I have not had any problems with mine."

"You will," she replied, then she smiled. "I just need to re-calibrate it."

Addison quickly realized that the problem with being persuasive to Coursers was that they did not have human feelings—they could not be persuaded by smiles or honeyed words. This synth would have to be persuaded by _fact_. Or a brief application of force if she could get close enough.

The Courser scrutinized her. "I would like to see your credentials."

She walked across the metal tiles on the ground with her hands raised. "Of course, of course. Let me get them for you."

Addison pulled something out of her jacket—it wasn't her credentials, of course. It was an Institute shock baton she'd modified to be smaller and more powerful. The shock jumped the few inches between her and the Courser and sent it flying back into the wall.

Addison jumped into action—she dropped the baton right away and pulled her sleeve back to reveal a small knife. The Courser would quickly recover from the shock, so Addison tackled him, its face flat against the metal floor. She made a fast and deep incision with her knife just under his dark hair. She jammed two of her fingers inside and upon feeling a smooth metal edge, she yanked as hard she could.

The Courser did not scream in pain, instead with incredible strength, it shoved itself off the floor and send her flying backwards. Her back hit the ground hard.

Cait had taught her to take pain in stride, so rather than staying on the ground, Addison immediately stood, bloody Courser chip—she hoped—in hand. She sprinted as fast as she could out of the room.

The Courser was already firing at her, and a series of blue shots whizzed past her. One made contact with the tender skin on the bottom of her bicep and she hissed in pain. Still, she kept running because she knew she was running out of time.

Addison leapt down each flight of stairs, over the railings, her bones rattling and knees crumpling on each impact. If she didn't break one or both legs, she'd be lucky.

The Courser would catch her under normal circumstances. Catch her and riddle her body with bullets.

She broke through the doors of the Greentech building, her heart pumping faster than it ever had before while blood streamed down her arm.

A loud explosion ripped through the air behind her. She felt heat on her back before she lost her balance and skidded to a stop as she fell to the ground.

She fell unconscious with the chip clenched in her hand.

* * *

Danse took a Vertibird to CIT. He hadn't even thought twice about sending up a signal grenade and taking the helicopter across the Commonwealth. Howard was in danger, no doubt, and he was going to help her.

Just as he spotted the iconic dome of the campus ruins, an explosion burst up from the ground to the east, a mushroom cloud rising into the air after the firey blaze faded.

"Over there!" Danse ordered the pilot over the din of the rotors, pointing in the direction of the explosion. He had no doubt that whatever was going wrong in that building had to do with Howard.

The Vertibird swung back around and lowered him down. He scanned the ground for any sign of life, but only saw a field of destroyed metal and flames. Just at the outer rim of the blast radius, he saw a body lying prostrate.

Danse had leapt out of the Vertibird before the landing skids even hit the ground. He rushed over to the body. He knew it was Howard's because her Pip-Boy was still attached to her arm, but slick with blood.

He fell to his knees and rolled her over. "Howard," he said breathlessly. "Howard, talk to me. Please."

Her eyelids fluttered before she groaned and opened her eyes. She looked dazed for a moment before she let out a breath.

"What are you doing…" She coughed violently. "I told Piper not to…tell you…"

He leaned down slightly. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Where's the Courser? Where's-,"

She pointed past him at the ruins from the explosion. "Dead over there, I hope."

When she tried to push herself up, Danse helped her. "I don't understand," he said. "What did you _do_?"

Howard brought her bloody arm to her chest. "I had to get close enough to the Courser to get the chip," she said. "I tried to persuade him that I was a scientist from the Institute."

"I thought the chip was in its brain," Danse said.

"It was," she muttered, then she opened her bloody palm. "I knew that the chip had to be close to its scalp at the base of its skull in case it needed to be replaced or updated. The hardware probably doesn't have an infinite life with such frequent use."

"How did you-,"

"Shock baton," she muttered.

"That wouldn't completely incapacitate a Courser," Danse replied.

Addison shifted and winced in pain. He would have offered her a Stim-pak if he were not so confused. "Okay, so don't be mad, but…" Her brow was coated in sweat as it wrinkled. "I found a nuka grenade in the Glowing Sea where those Children of Atom were. I attached it to my power armor and rigged it to explode after a certain amount of time. I ran out here and hoped the Courser would be trapped in the blast."

Danse sat in a stupefied silence for a few moments. "You…you _blew up_ your power armor? To kill the Courser?"

"I had to disguise the bomb or else the Courser would see it," Howard said.

"But—but you destroyed it," he replied exasperatedly. "You directly violated my orders and went forward with an _insane_ plan." He shook his head. "How did you even know how to _do_ this stuff?"

She looked down with her lips in a tight pout. "Before I went to law school, I studied chemistry and worked in my father's lab."

Danse frowned slightly. "Because that's what your father wanted you to do?"

"Yes," Howard mumbled. "But after studying to be a scientist for a while for my bachelor's degree, I decided to go into something else. I couldn't…I just couldn't do what he did, you know that."

Danse shifted so he was more comfortable. "You were good at it, weren't you?"

"My father was one of the most pre-eminent scientific minds of his generation," she said. "So, yeah, I was okay at it. And a terrible lawyer."

Danse put his hand against his temple before it slid back into his hair. He had been sweating too. "Howard, why did you do this without me?"

"Because it was dangerous," she said. "Because I…I was mad at you. You said we were partners, but all you've done since then is get angry with me and be way too over-protective."

Danse looked at her bloody hand covering the wound on her arm. "We should do something about that."

He turned and rummaged through the pack he had brought along. The expression on her face told him that she was perfectly aware he was avoiding a conversation about their relationship. He gently moved her hand and used a Stim-pak.

Howard held out her arm so he could wrap bandages around it. "This is deep," he said. "You will be out of commission for a while."

She watching him while he inspected her arm. "Danse, I just want to understand. I—I want to work things out with you because sometimes it seems like you actually care. Other times…"

Danse grit his teeth together before he sighed. He would have to say something now, after she'd thrown herself into such danger because she thought he didn't have her best interests at heart as a person.

"This will be off the record. And…difficult for me to say."

"Take as long as you need," she said softly.

He shook his head. "I'm not very good at these sorts of things. I'll…I'll start at the beginning." He finally lifted his head to meet her gaze. "I grew up alone in the Capital Wasteland. Spent most of my childhood picking through ruins and selling scrap. When I was a bit older, I moved to Rivet City and opened a junk stand. While I was there, I met a guy named Cutler. We got along pretty well, watched each other's backs and kept each other out of trouble."

Howard took her arm back and rested it on her lap. "He was your friend."

"Yes," Danse admitted. "We joined the Brotherhood together when they came through on a recruiting run. About a year after we were posted on the Prydwen, Cutler vanished on a scouting op. I assembled a squad to search for him. It took almost three weeks, but we tracked him down to a super mutant hive."

"Was he alive?" Howard asked.

Danse nodded. "Those wretched abominations had slaughtered everyone but him. He should have been so lucky." He scowled, disgust tensing his brow and sending anger coursing through him even after all this time. "The mutant _bastards_ used their FEV to change him into one of their own kind."

Howard sighed. "Oh Danse…"

"He wasn't…He wasn't _Cutler_ , anymore," Danse said, his throat tightening. "I had to…it was my _duty_ to…" He squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. "Put him down."

Howard was quiet, and then her fingers gently touched his forearm. "I'm sorry."

He cleared his throat. "It's what I was taught. I don't know if it was right."

"You—you are incredibly brave, Danse," she said. "Especially when it comes to defending your principles. I'm sure Cutler would have wanted you to do what you thought was right."

Danse's shoulders slumped. "Ever since Cutler died, I've seen other soldiers come and go. Some were brave, some were honest…hell, some were even downright heroic. But I'd never considered them to be a good friend, a friend like Cutler." His felt his blood pumping in his face, maybe because he was blushing. "Until now, I think."

Her hand slid down his arm until her fingers were nestled in his. "I consider you my friend, too, Danse."

He looked at her. "Is that true?"

"Yes," she said. "You can be hard-headed and stoic, but you also flew across the Commonwealth in a Vertibird just to see if I was alright." She looked at his chest. "And you forgot your power armor."

"I didn't _forget_ ," he protested quickly. "When Piper told me where you were, I—I panicked. If I seem over-protective, it's just because…" He pursed his lips together. "It frightens me. Having a bond with someone and then losing them. It changes you. I don't want to go through that again."

She squeezed his hand. "It scares me too. But…the time you spent with Cutler as his friend is better than never having been friends with him at all. I don't regret being married to Nate, even though I lost him. And I won't regret being friends with you."

"I should have realized that instead of shutting you out. And I should have never lost my temper like I did in the Glowing Sea," Danse admitted. "Your…methods of combat are different than mine, but you're brilliant."

She smiled slightly. "If all I needed to do to gain your friendship was kill a Courser, you should have told me earlier."

Danse grinned back at her. "My apologies. But—perhaps in the future, do not leave me behind on these missions. I can't have your back if I'm not around. I don't care how dangerous it gets."

"I know," she said. "And if there are repercussions with Maxson for what I did, I'll accept the punishment. I'll tell them it wasn't your fault. I can pay for the power armor, too."

"Maxson might be disappointed you did not follow Brotherhood orders, but you do get results," Danse replied. "I don't think you understand how incredible it is you've gotten this close to finding the Institute. I…should say that more often."

Addison took her hand back from him, but still smiled. "I've only made this progress because of your help."

He looked down at her arm. Blood was already seeping through the bandages he had wrapped around her bicep. She had a high tolerance for pain, apparently. Or those Stim-paks did impressive work.

"You might also need my help getting to the Vertibird," he said, as he pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand to her.

Howard accepted his proffered help and shakily rose to a standing position. "My legs hurt pretty badly," she admitted. "I think we should go see Cade on the Prywden."

"Of course," Danse said, concern laced in his voice. "If you used a nuka grenade, there was likely a lot of radiation from the blast."

"I took Rad-X while I was in the building," Addison replied, and Danse did not even care if he looked overly-impressed.

"You thought of everything," he remarked, as they walked through the debris back towards the docked Vertibird.

"Well, I-,"

Howard had stopped speaking abruptly, and then stopped walking as well. Danse turned to her immediately. "What's wrong?"

She was staring down at a pile of rubble, still smoking slightly. There was a body trapped between the broken plaster and metal pylons. It was a young blonde woman, killed almost instantly by the blast. One of the many casualties of daring plans like Howard's. Perhaps Danse was numb to it because he'd often seen civilians taken by the violence so rampant in the Commonwealth.

"I-I don't…" Howard eyes were open wide with shock. "I didn't see her. What was she doing in the building?" She swallowed roughly. "I wouldn't have done this if I thought…"

Danse walked over to stand beside her. "Howard-,"

She spun around and looked up at him. "I killed her. I didn't even _think_ that there might be innocent people in the building. I…"

Danse exhaled slowly. "The price of war is high. You made an honest mistake."

Howard covered her face with her hands, not able to face him any longer. "I didn't think of everything. I was so careless…"

He hesitated, then gently touched the back of her shoulder with his hand. "You need to head back to the Prydwen. You can't dwell on this. No one is perfect."

"I have killed so many people," she murmured, as her eyes repeatedly darted away from him.

He lowered his hand. "That's the world you live in now. You wouldn't be alive if you didn't defend yourself." He cleared his throat. "Come to the Vertibird, Howard."

She shuffled around back to him. "Are you giving me an order now, Paladin?"

"Possibly," Danse said, then he gestured her towards their final destination. Howard did as he asked, and they made their way slowly across the rubble.

Howard walked with her arms over her chest, slumped down with a despondent expression. He hated that she felt that way, but he could not protect her from all the unfortunate things in the Commonwealth, or the unfortunate consequences of their actions sometimes.

From the feats she had accomplished—successfully killing a _Courser_ —he might not need to protect her from anything at all.


	14. Chapter 14

Danse and Howard went their separate ways once they reached the Prywden. Part of Danse _did_ perhaps want to hover around the medical bay and pepper Cade with questions about her condition, but he did not want his far-too-familial concern for Howard to be evident to everyone else. Instead he returned to his quarters and then checked in with some other Paladins about the Brotherhood's efforts to secure the airport below them. He did not want to speak to Maxson right away—as soon as he heard how wildly insubordinate Howard was being, he would likely not be happy.

After a few hours, Howard had not appeared, so Danse assumed she was being held in the medical bay for observation, probably against her will. He crossed the airship, but as soon as he reached the threshold to the clinic, he hesitated. He clenched one of his hands until his knuckles were white. He wished he was wearing his power armor.  
When he walked into the medical bay, Howard spotted him immediately from her place on a cot.

"Danse, you've got to help me!" she said hurriedly.

His heart skipped a beat as his brow arched in. "What's wrong?"

Howard pointed across the room to Knight-Captain Cade, who was clacking away on his terminal. "He won't let me leave," she said. "And I've asked very politely _multiple_ times!"

Cade rolled his eyes. "We can't all fall prey to your charms, Howard," he replied.

"Why are you keeping her here?" Danse asked.

Cade stood and crossed his arms. "Well, Paladin, it could have something to do with her broken ribs, the second degree burns on her arm, the head trauma, the radiation exposure. Oh and-,"

Danse raised his hand. "Alright, I get it." He turned and looked at Howard. "Cade has a point."

Howard frowned and leaned back against her pillows with a huff. "I feel fine. We need to get that chip decoded."

"And we will," Danse assured her. "In a few days, when you're feeling better."

"I feel fine," she repeated again, with a clenched jaw.

He walked over and perched on the edge of her cot, as gently and far away as he possibly could. "Howard, you have been running yourself ragged," he said. "For _months_. These injures have accumulated, and it will incapacitate you eventually. Shaun will be fine, even after a few days. You aren't failing him."

Her eyes narrowed slightly in a calculating silence before she dropped her arms. "Fine," she muttered. "I find it hard to believe that you have convinced me of anything, but I will rest for a few days. Then we go straight to Amari to decode the chip."

"Deal," he said.

Howard positioned herself more comfortably against her pillows, and Danse did not miss the wince that escaped her. "What are those for?" she asked him, gesturing to the books rested under his hand.

Danse's eyes darted evasively over to Cade, but we was absorbed in talking to another patient. "After I heard you were here, I thought, uh—that you…" He splayed them out on the cot. "I have collected a number of pre-war novels, and I thought some of them might interest you."

Her brow rose. "You always complain when _I_ pick up pre-war junk."

"Books are not junk," he pointed out. "Broken typewriters and lamps that will never work? _That's_ junk."

"In your opinion, at least," she replied, as she reached over and selected one of his books. She inspected the binding and flipped through some of the brittle pages. "This is in surprisingly good shape."

"I've spent a lot of time searching the Commonwealth as a part of my duties in Reconnaissance Squad Gladius. I found that book in a bunker in a personal home in the Capital Wasteland."

She read the cover with a smirk. " _Power Armor and Its Origins_ ," she said. "And here I thought you were a fan of torrid romance novels."

"I prefer history to…ridiculous smut," he replied with a skeptical look. "Though I suppose that area isn't as interesting to you because—well, you _are_ history."

She lifted her head. "Are you calling me _old_?"

"Well, you are technically upwards of two hundred-," Danse stopped because her jaw had dropped slightly, and he realized his unwavering presentation of the truth was perhaps—tactless.

"I wasn't calling you old," he finished hurriedly. "You are young and, uh, other things."

She snorted. "Maybe not young, but I'm not thirty yet, either." She opened the book again and flipped to a page near the middle. "If you want to see a young Addison, look at this."

Howard turned the book around and showed him the page. There was a collage of black and white pictures, faded, but still visible because of the condition he'd found it in.

He grabbed it probably more aggressively than he meant to. "Is that _you_?" he began incredulously.

"There's a whole chapter in this book dedicated to my father's work," she replied. "You can't talk about power armor without the fusion core."

"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly. "I can't believe I didn't think about…I should have realized…"

She smiled slightly. "It's okay, Danse."

He looked back down at the book on his lap. The pictures were mostly of Dr. Clayton—displaying his fusion core for the first time, presumably at some press conference. Him in a lab, probably at CIT, working with a set of beakers. The last photo was him with his family in front of a palatial estate. Both Howard's parents were stone-faced, her mother's hair pulled back severely from her temple.

Howard stood between them, smiling wanly. She was wearing a well-made and demure dress with sleeves down to her elbows. He couldn't quite pinpoint her age, but she looked in her late teens.

"The house is in the book because my father had it built with a lab in the basement," Howard explained. "One of the best in the country, for his own personal use. It was dangerous for him to have it there, but he didn't care. He was more concerned about protecting his research and improving the fusion core."

She crossed her arms and leaned back. "That was taken just when the house was finished, right before I left for college."

"When is that?" he asked.

"Oh, right," Howard replied with a wave of her hand. "No college around anymore. I was 18."

Danse closed the book. "Do you know what happened to them? Your parents? When the bombs fell?"

Howard laced her fingers together to stop herself from wringing them. "No," she admitted. "Nate's father was the one who arranged for us to be put on the list for a Vault. I don't know if my parents went to one too, though they'd be dead by now anyway." Her eyes finally darted up to his. "I…don't care."

"I'm sorry," Danse said quickly. "I shouldn't have-,"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she replied. "It's not your fault my parents weren't exactly loving."

Danse pulled the book further away. "But I don't want to make those bad memories resurface."

Howard sighed. "They're only memories. It hardly matters."

He reddened and looked away. "Well—here. I have other books too." He picked up another one. "This is—oh. _The History of the Commonwealth_."

Howard laughed. "God, do you have _anything_ interesting?"

"This _is_ interesting," he insisted. "I've lived in the Wasteland my whole life. Before all this destruction—I mean, there were grocery stores, for example." He waved his hand backwards. "You didn't have to fight for your food or scavenge for it. You drove to a building and had _everything_ you needed."

"Well that's true," she said. "But that's not much of a compelling story." She pulled herself out from under the covers and tried to crawl to the end of the cot.

"Be careful," he sputtered, but she just waved her hand and plopped down next to him. She spread out the other books. "Is this everything you've got?"

"No," he said. "I have a _few_ more."

"Looks like our Paladin Danse is quite the hoarder," she remarked with a grin.

"That's rich, coming from you," Danse said. "If we pick up one more aluminum can or another broken pencil, I'll scream."

"That would be a refreshing change of pace from your stoicism," she replied.

Danse made an indignant sound. "I am not— _stoic_ ," he protested. "I merely take my job seriously."

"Oh, I'm aware," she replied. She reached over his knee to pick another book, and he wasn't sure if he should lean away or not. He didn't.

"It was nice of you to bring these," she said. "I was afraid I would be bored."

"I'm confident you would have found someone to talk to," he replied.

"What will you do?" she asked, as she began crawling back towards the head of her cot with the book she picked.

Danse stood with a single book remaining in his hand. "I need to speak with Proctor Ingram. I plan to somehow convince her to give you another suit of power armor since you blew yours up."

Howard smiled sheepishly. "I hope it works. Maybe—I could go. We've spoken many times and-,"

"I can handle it, Howard," he said with a wave of his hand. "I'll get you the armor."

"Okay," she replied, though she still looked uncertain. "I _need_ to get back to Virgil. It's important."

He stepped slightly closer. "I won't let you down."

Howard leaned back with an encouraging smile. "I know you won't."

Danse nodded to her. "I will see you later, Howard. I intend to periodically check in on you to ensure you are following Knight-Captain Cade's orders."

Her lip quirked up further. "I'm looking forward to it."

Danse raised his hand in a brief wave as he turned towards the door. She returned the gesture far more enthusiastically. When he crossed into the hallway, his hand tightened around the book he'd taken along with him. It was the one with her picture in it.

No matter what Howard said, he clearly should have known better than bring that book to her attention. Parts of her past had produced good memories, but not all of them.

He opened the pages again once he was closer to Ingram's workstation. The number of times that he'd scanned this thing in his desperation to know as much about power armor as possible—he should have made the connection before. _Recognized_ her. But the person Howard was before the war looked nothing like who she was now. Still, to think he'd been carrying around a picture of her all these years—that he would meet someone who he saw in the course of his extensive studies of the world before the war. It was unsettling.

Danse stopped just before he reached Ingram. Howard was an upbeat and outgoing person, as much as she could be in these circumstances. He had not expected her to look so _sad_ in that photo.

* * *

Addison hated many things about being confined in the medical bay. She was helpless there. No longer actively searching for Shaun, furthering her quest. Just sitting and waiting for the injuries from her mistakes to heal.

She spent too much time _thinking_ in that cot, too. Her plan to kill the Courser had been fueled by desperation and adrenaline. In addition to almost killing her, it did kill another human being. Well—that's what Danse believed.

At Greentech Genetics, Addison hadn't thought about the fact that the Courser was looking for another synth. That is, until that person was dead in a pile of rubble.

Addison had seen the young female synth out of the corner of her eye when she had first approached the Courser, but she hadn't been cognizant of what her plan would to do the woman.

Later, after the explosion, Addison had not told Danse that the body was a synth when they came across it. She knew he would not feel any sympathy, and he should. Despite what the Brotherhood extolled as anti-synth virtues, Addison still saw humanity in them. Nick was her friend, and if her mistake had hurt _him_ , she would be devastated.

Her mistakes terrified her. What if something happened to Danse because of her errors? Or another one of her companions? That would be unacceptable, synth or not. Hell, if anything happened to _Dogmeat_ she'd be devastated.

If Danse knew how badly this was affecting her—her guilt over a dead synth—he'd tell her to toughen up. Probably congratulate her on removing an Institute abomination from the Commonwealth. She didn't want to acknowledge how acutely his prejudices against non-humans presented themselves.

Eventually, Addison escaped from Cade's clutches on the Prydwen, and she and Danse immediately returned to Goodneighbor. Danse did not have any power armor for her, but he gave her assurances that he would arrange for her to receive another set. She was touched by his earnestness to do things for her, and it felt nice to understand his reasoning behind it.

Amari did not have good news for them. She had no capacity to translate the Courser chip and directed them to the Railroad. The Railroad. Addison had yet to encounter that elusive group, but she knew what they did.

The Railroad crusaded on behalf of synths, freeing them and fighting the Institute. But it also meant they were in the cross-hairs of the Brotherhood, and Danse would not be happy about requesting their aid.

Addison was quick to leave the Memory Den, while Danse trailed loudly behind her. She could feel his eyes on her, lips pursed in annoyance and hardly holding in his words before they got to the street.

"We are not going to find the Railroad," he announced, and Addison sighed heavily before turning to him.

"Danse-,"

"They are our enemies," he continued. "It would be dangerous to approach them."

"We don't have-,"

"I'm sure that someone in the Brotherhood will be able to decode the chip," he said.

Addison crossed her arms. "Are you going to let me say anything?"

"No," he replied simply.

She huffed. "And why not?"

"Because I don't want to be convinced," he said. "And if you speak, you'll do exactly that. So we are not going to have a discussion."

Her lip quirked up in a small smile. "I've been known to persuade with just an expression," she said, then gave him a wide-eyed look that she envisioned Dogmeat would give anyone if he wanted some of their food.

Danse furrowed his brow slightly, thinking, before he shook his head. "Ineffective."

Addison exhaled sharply. "Fine, then _listen_ to me. I'm not going to join the Railroad. I'm going to utilize their skills to get us into the Institute. That's our real enemy, isn't it?" She gestured backward. "If there's no Institute, there can be no synths for the Railroad to save."

"We have alternatives," Danse insisted.

She shook her head. "We don't. You know that. No one in the Brotherhood has killed—probably even encountered—a Courser. We need experts." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the chip. "This is sensitive technology. What if a Brotherhood tech were to compromise it? I don't think I can afford to kill another Courser."

"I-," Danse grit his teeth. "It just doesn't feel right."

She stepped forward and put her hand on his armor. Not as effective because the armor was not actually a part of his person, despite how often he wore it. "Danse, I know this is outside protocol. Probably some of the craziest stuff you've done since joining the Brotherhood. But we are doing something no one has ever done. It's going to take—unorthodox measures."

"There is a difference between unorthodox and patently irresponsible," he pointed out.

Addison sighed. "If you're truly that uncomfortable with it, maybe I should go find the Railroad with Nick. He's a synth; that might garner some sympathy with them. And—well, bringing you might be what's dangerous."

He frowned. "What does that mean?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "Danse, come on. You can't march into their base in your power armor. You think they'll be okay with a Brotherhood _Paladin_ showing up? You don't think they won't know who you are?"

"Howard," he began incredulously. "You can't be serious. I don't want you to find them without-,"

"We talked about you being overprotective," Addison said gently.

"So you propose to test my resolve for the first time by asking me to let you locate the Railroad? Alone?" he replied.

"I won't be alone," she insisted. "I'll have Nick. And Dogmeat."

"I don't find that particularly comforting," he muttered. "Though I think you'd be safer with the _dog_ than that synth."

Addison's mouth tightened so the pale pink on her lips was white, but she did not reprimand him. "Well if you can't find comfort in that, just trust me."

Danse looked up at the sky, then let his head fall back down. "This is why I didn't want to have a discussion about it."

She grinned. "Because I've won and you're a sore loser?"

"What exactly am I supposed to do while you approach the Railroad?" he asked.

"I'm sure you can find a way to make yourself useful on the Prydwen," she replied. "I'll be gone a few days, at most."

"Fine," he said, and she saw his shoulders lift from his sigh even in his power armor. "You will approach our enemies for assistance, as terrible of an idea as that is."

"My bad ideas have worked before," she said brightly, mouth widening into a smile.

Danse did not return the gesture. "I would hate to see your luck run out."

"Well that's what I have you for," she replied. "But you don't have to worry this time because I'm not going to be in danger finding the Railroad. They'll like me."

Danse did not seem completely won over by Addison's assurances, but at least he was not insisting that he accompany her to the Railroad headquarters. Danse made it hard for people to get along with him sometimes, and he was not exactly _subtle_. If the Railroad were truly as secretive as everyone said, Danse was not the person she needed with her. At least for now.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Hi friends. You'll notice these chapters are considerably longer than the others before it. I let myself get behind updating this story on this site, and I have the story in one big document, so it was easier to just publish it in huge chunks rather than split them into smaller chapters. Apologies if that makes if more difficult to read!**

The tunnels below the Old North Church were dark, decrepit, and filled with the same sort of enemies that populated the rest of the Commonwealth. Dogmeat's growl was a practiced thrum beside her as she and Nick made their way to the Railroad headquarters.

Their little spinning puzzle was easy enough to solve. Perhaps a little too easy. The two of them, Dogmeat behind them, walked directly into a blanket a darkness when a secret door opened.

Addison heard the skittering of rocks, then the hum of electricity before a set of floodlights flipped on. The light seared her eyes, and she quickly raised her hand. A voice echoed through the bright space.

"Stop right there," it ordered sternly.

"I think we found them," Nick muttered from beside her, arms crossed.

Addison lowered her hand once her eyes adjusted. There were three people in front of her, one pointing a mini-gun in their direction. The leader was a woman with a plaid scarf, frowning with a slash between her brow. Unfriendly like most people in the Commonwealth.

"You went to a lot of effort to arrange this meeting," the woman said. "But before we go any further, answer my questions."

Addison stepped forward slightly. "There's no need for hostility. I-,"

Her placation did not work well, and the woman just continued with her question. "Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Addison Howard," she replied, then gestured sideways. "This is my friend, Nick Valentine and Dogmeat. It's nice to meet you. We followed the Freedom Trail looking for you. We're not your enemy."

"If that's true, you have nothing to fear," the woman said. "Who told you how to contact us?"

Addison knew she did not have time to hesitate in her answers, though she stopped to consider how successful a lie would be anyway. What would be the point of that when the truth was not harmful? Danse would probably call her naïve for thinking that.

"Doctor Amari, from Goodneighbor."

"Interesting," she said. "I am Desdemona, and I'm the leader of the Railroad. We-,"

Footsteps echoed from behind the group and cut her off. She spun on her heel in the dirt. "Deacon, where have you been?" she asked sharply.

A man in a white shirt had stepped forward, the silver edge of his sunglasses reflecting the light around them. He had an easy smile as he looked them over. "You've having a party," he said. "What gives with my invitation?"

"I need intel, Deacon," Desdemona said with her hand outstretched towards them. "Who is this?"

The man's eyebrow raised. "Wow. News flash, boss, this guy's kind of a big deal out here."

Addison turned with a confusion expression. "Nick?"

Deacon instead pointed to her—he had said _guy_ , but meant _her_. He couldn't possibly mean that _she_ was a big deal.

"Dez, she's the one that cleared Fort Strong for the Brotherhood. She's one of their main Knights or something."

Addison's spine straightened like a rod. "Oh, well, that's actually a little-,"

Deacon did not heed her and continued. "She's rebuilding the Minutemen out of Sanctuary. Killed a Courser. _Alone_."

Desdemona's brow furrowed. "You're telling me that _she_ killed a Courser?" she asked, which was probably a fair question given how unassuming Addison looked. "Single-handedly?"

Deacon nodded. "Yeah and rigged some crazy nuclear explosion, too." He crossed his arms. "You're looking at the last remaining heir of _the_ scientist Warren Clayton."

Addison felt the color draining from her face. "How do you know all this about me?" she demanded.

Deacon just shrugged. "It's my job."

Desdemona looked slightly impressed after Deacon's disclosure, though still defensive. "I owe you an apology," she admitted. "Anyone who kills a Courser is good in my book. So tell me why you're here."

Addison subconsciously moved her hand to her pocket where the chip was. "Let's say, hypothetically, that I came into possession of a Courser chip. Could you help me decode it?"

"You _what_?" she began incredulously. "This is not a joking manner."

"I've been told I'm not very funny, so I can assure you I'm quite serious," Addison replied.

Desdemona pursed her lips tightly. "We don't just let people into our headquarters, regardless of their pedigree."

Dean interjected from beside her. "Dez, we need her. She's got an intact Courser chip, for God's sake."

"That violates our security protocols," she insisted, turning to give him a disapproving look.

Deacon made an impatient noise. "To hell with that. She killed a Courser. There's no way she's working for the Institute."

Desdemona was silent for a few moments, staring at him before she had spun back to Addison with the same hard gaze.

"Fine," she eventually said. "I will let you into our headquarters. You're the first outsider ever given this privilege. Follow me."

Desdemona disappeared as the others lowered their weapons. Addison felt the muscles in her body losing tension—she had been more nervous about that conversation than she thought. It had been hard to contemplate approaching the Railroad when she already seemed so deeply entrenched with the Brotherhood.

Nick looked over at her. "Well, that went better than I expected."

"They don't seem to like me very much," Addison replied.

He grunted in agreement. "Seems charm's at a premium down here," he said. "That tin bodyguard of yours might have done well down here after all."

"He's not my bodyguard," Addison said, as she jumped down the short ledge that separated her from the door Desdemona had slid through.

Nick followed her. "Cait's been calling him your boyfriend, would you prefer that title?"

Addison threw him a look that she hoped conveyed her annoyance, though she could never be truly annoyed with Nick. And maybe she wasn't so repelled by the suggestion either.

"Very funny, Nick," she said dryly. "Why didn't you break out that humor five minutes ago when people were pointing guns at us?"

They reached the door and Nick smiled slightly. "I've often found that making jokes is more likely to get us in trouble."

Addison opened the door leading to the Railroad headquarters, just as Nick added another comment.

"I wasn't joking about thing with Danse either, you know."

She chose to ignore that.

The others members of the Railroad were just as hostile to Nick and Addison as Desdemona had been. They were not a trusting bunch, though perhaps that was for good reason.

Tinker Tom proved to be the most helpful of the Railroad members; he successfully decoded the chip and then gave Addison a holotape with the data. Desdemona was very insistent about the Railroad keeping the chip for themselves. Addison wondered if the Brotherhood might protest to that, but it seemed like it was impossible to negotiate with her.

Addison could tell as she pocketed the holotape that Desdemona and the others did not want her to overstay her welcome. They had stopped most their work, regarding her with their various defensive gazes and tight-lipped frowns. As she gestured Dogmeat towards the door to escape as quickly as possible, Desdemona followed her.

"You know, you seem like you could be an asset to the Railroad," she remarked. "And we could help you in return."

Addison stopped and felt her throat tighten slightly. "Really?"

"We do not trust quickly, but we do good work," Desdemona said. "We seek to free synths from their bondage. Give them a chance at a real life."

Addison thought of the synth from Greentech Genetics—where her plan had cost someone _else_ their life. A young synth who probably had no idea she'd be trapped under a building, killed because Addison couldn't be bothered to think ahead.

The Brotherhood had very particular opinions about what synths deserved. And it was only death. Being eradicated from the world's very existence because they were not _natural_.

How could Addison support that? While being friends with Nick? While being a decent person at all?

Addison let a small sigh leave her lips. "If you're truly helping synths find a better life, I…can help."

"Glad to hear it," Desdemona said. "I have one question. The only question that matters." She crossed her arms with a stern expression. "Would you risk your life for your fellow man? Even if he was a synth?"

Her eyes darted over to Nick. Dogmeat. Neither humans, but still important to her—the ones who had been there all along. They did not disparage her for her opinions, or her inability to do something. Would she risk their life for them?

Without a second thought.

"Of course," Addison replied.

"Let me be crystal clear," Desdemona said. "If you use that Courser data and discover anything involving the Institute, you share it with us first. Otherwise our relationship _will_ be in jeopardy."

Addison hesitated, trapping the surprised sound in her throat, even as she felt Nick give her a quizzical look. He undoubtedly wondered how exactly she intended to straddle alliances between opposing groups. But what was a few missions in-between her Brotherhood duties?

"I understand," Addison said with a nod.

Desdemona gave a curt nod. "Good. Go talk to Deacon. He probably has some small jobs you can do before we let you become a full agent."

Desdemona disappeared before Addison could reply, apparently not one for goodbyes or pleasantries. She slipped through the door just as Deacon appeared, her face visible in the lens of his sunglasses.

"Hope you didn't mind the reception," Deacon said, easy smile still tugging at his lip. "When you tango with the Institute, you got to be careful when someone new gets on the dance floor."

Addison had hated getting dancing lessons as a child. "I'm used to people in the Wasteland being cagey," she replied.

"Still, I would consider it a close personal favor if you didn't sell us out to the Institute," he said. "Dez is a little weary about letting you become an agent so quickly, and I know just how to solve that problem."

One brow rose. "You do?"

He led her further away from the door and the earshot of the other Railroad members. "I got a job," he explained. "Too big for me, perfect for the two of us. You help me out, we turn a few heads, and then Dez invites you into the fold."

Addison's nails dug into the flesh of her palm as she clenched her fist—a nervous reaction to the danger she was wading into by agreeing to these missions. Danse expected her to be gone at least a few days getting the chip decoded. One project for another group couldn't hurt.

"I can help you, but we need to go now," she finally said.

"Fine by me," Danse replied. "I need to gather some gear, but let's meet outside the old freeway near Lexington in a few hours." He gestured sideways to Nick. "Your friend coming?"

Nick's yellow eyes looked her up and down in the shadowy tunnel, skeptical, probably concerned about what the hell she was currently doing. "Where she goes, I go," he said.

Deacon turned back to her. "One last thing: Dez won't like me doing this, but I need something to call you."

She furrowed her brow. "Um—Addison?"

He waved his hand. "No," he said. "A code name. We all have them. So how about it? The Scientist maybe?"

Addison immediately stiffened. "I'm _not_ a scientist," she replied, probably more brusquely than she intended. "Sorry. I…any other suggestions?"

He shook his head. "Your name, your choice."

Addison made an exasperated sound because she didn't really know who she was in the Wasteland, much less how to distill her identity into a _single_ word. Her parents were entirely too formal to ever impart a nickname onto her. It was _always_ Addison. Miss Clayton. Then Mrs. Howard. Hell, if Shaun had gotten the chance to grow up, he would have referred to her as _Mother_ , not Mom.

Nate was the only exception. He had gotten close enough— _cared_ enough—to call her something special. Silly, actually, like he was, but special to her.

She flushed slightly red. "Call me…Carrot-top."

Deacon's brow wrinkled around his sunglasses. " _Carrot-top_?" he began incredulously. "Because of your _hair_? That's so-"

"Innocuous?" she suggested with a smile.

Deacon paused to think for a moment, tilting his head slightly, before he gave a short laugh. "I like it. That's your style, huh? The whole 'charming, polite suburban mom' that cuts your throat in your sleep? Very nice."

"Well—sure," Addison said. Deacon seemed more confident in her combat abilities than he probably should have been. "Let's go with that."

Deacon nodded to her and turned back for the door. "See you soon," he said, then he disappeared.

Addison did not move immediately and heard Nick shifting beside her.

"What exactly are you doing, kid?"

She tried to shrug noncommittally. "I don't know what you're taking about."

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I look forward to seeing you explain all these new adventures to your friends in the Brotherhood."

"This isn't-," She huffed. "The Brotherhood does not control my life. If I want to lend my aid to saving synths, I can." She threw her hand up. "I thought you would support that."

"I do," Nick replied. "But you can't deny that its dangerous to choose your alliances this way. The Brotherhood won't take you helping synths lightly."

"They—don't have to find out about it," she said.

Nick folded his arms over his trench coat. "Even Danse?"

Addison pressed her fingers to her temple. She did not want to admit that Danse, no matter how close they were, would never approve of this. But her goals did not need to be inextricably tied to the Brotherhood, or him. If she wanted to help synths, she could.

Those words almost made their way to her lips before she pursed them tightly and looked away. "We don't have to talk about this," she said. "It will be fine."

Nick sighed. "You can't avoid things in the Wasteland like you did in your life before."

"You don't know what my life was like before," Addison replied, sharply. She immediately inhaled a shaky breath—she hated losing her temper that way. "Sorry, Nick. Can we go? Please?"

"Yeah, kid," he said. "Let's head out."

Addison scrubbed the soft spot between Dogmeat's ears, still looking down. "Thanks for agreeing to help. And for your advice."

"Anytime," he said, and they headed in silence back towards the ground floor of the church.

Addison _knew_ Nick was right. She committed herself to the Brotherhood; it wasn't safe to expend her resources elsewhere. Maxson did not seem like the type who would make room for other viewpoints different from the ones he preached. And the ones Danse accepted so readily.

But she had felt true sadness when she'd taken a synth's life. An innocent person, at that. She wanted to make it right by helping the Railroad. Danse just…didn't need to know about it.

At dusk, Danse arrived back in Sanctuary. He had received word earlier that day that Howard had returned from her attempt to get the Courser chip decoded. She had spent much more time away than he'd anticipated, and it had begun to worry him. Days passed, and part of him wondered what exactly she'd been doing. He knew if he shared his concerns, though, she'd just accuse him of being too protective.

Once Danse reached Sanctuary's cul-de-sac, he exited his power armor and left it at his workstation. He needed to do some final adjustments on it if he and Howard were to head back through the Glowing Sea to Virgil. He crossed the tall grass, pink and yellow light cast across the concrete slab beside Howard's house as the sun set. Through the window, he did not see her in the living room, so he peeked around the back.

A ratty plastic patio set remained intact in the yard, except for the umbrella on the table that had been snapped off long before they arrived there. Howard was hunched over in the chair, her hair obscuring his view of what she was doing.

"Hey," Danse said, but he abruptly stopped when Howard's head shot up. She made a surprised sound and then darted forward to gather up the papers scattered around her. Her face was beet red.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

She shook her head and gave an awkward laugh. "Sorry, you just scared me. Your approach is normally…louder."

Danse cocked his head slightly before he sat down at the table opposite her. She pulled the papers closer and tried to push them back into a tattered manila folder. There were pencils stacked in a neat pile beside her elbow.

"I came to tell you that Ingram is having a set of power armor delivered tomorrow morning," Danse said. "And I wanted to see if you had the chip decoded successfully."

She seemed to calm down a bit. "I did," she said. "An agent at the Railroad was able to help me. We should be able to bring what we found to Virgil."

"They didn't hurt you, did they?" he asked. "Or threaten you?"

Her lip flicked up in a small smile. "No, Danse. I mean, they were certainly weary and a bit paranoid, but they were cooperative." Her fingers clenched into a fist on the table. "I won't be contacting them again, obviously."

"I knew that," Danse replied. "I'm glad to hear your trip was a success."

"Yes," she said, as she pulled her folder into her lap. "I'm…sorry, Danse, you'll have to excuse me. I need to go."

He leaned back slightly. He was afraid to ask her directly what she was doing, though he wanted to know. "I always wondered what use you had for all those pencils you collect."

Her brow arched in, and she looked slightly panicked. "You…saw?"

"No," he admitted. "Though you're being a bit—dodgy. I'm not sure I understand. And I hope you aren't doing something that might compromise your position with the Brotherhood."

She gave a snort and slumped back in the plastic chair. "It's not that," she said sheepishly. "Just…something stupid."

"I'm sure it's not," Danse replied.

"You can't say that without seeing them," she pointed out.

He shrugged. "So show me."

Howard's mouth opened slightly before she blushed and looked away. She lifted the folder back up to the table and pushed it clumsily forward with her fingertips. "They're hardly worth sharing."

Danse pulled the folder towards him and flipped it open. As soon as he did, Howard put her hands between her knees, like she was trying to keep warm, and her eyes trailed down.

The pencils were for drawing. Art. Black and white landscapes of the Wasteland. The bridge in front of Sanctuary. An old highway. They were good, as far as Danse could say.

"Howard, these are-,"

"You don't have to patronize me," she said hurriedly.

"Let me finish before you say that," he replied. "These are good. I like them. I had no idea you were an artist."

She gave a small laugh. "Oh. Oh no. Artists have _talent_ ," she said. "I took a couple of classes in college all the while being told that this kind of hobby was a waste of my time and skill."

"Your parents aren't around to tell you what to do anymore," Danse remarked.

She ran her hand through her hair. "That doesn't mean I'm any good."

"You are," Danse said. "I really like them."

Howard did not seem to believe him and held her hand out across the table. "Well, now you've seen them so-,"

Danse flipped through the other pictures until he reached the last. This one was in color, and not of the Wasteland. It was the shore of an idyllic pond with water that was truly _blue_ , long, flowing grass and flowers. He'd never seen anything like it in his entire life. Every landscape he'd ever crossed was barren, brown, if not black.

"Wow," he murmured.

She sat up straighter so she could see what he was looking at. "Oh. That one-,"

He looked up and met her gaze. "Is this from your memory? Did this exist…before?"

"It did," she said. "You've been yourself. Walden Pond. I went there a lot before the war."

"It's in color," he remarked, his eyes sliding back down because he didn't want to peel his gaze away from something so…foreign to him.

She nodded. "I found some stubs of colored pencils when I left the Vault. Haven't found any since. Art supplies are not abundant around here, if you can imagine."

Danse exhaled slowly. "Wow," he said again. To think that Howard had lived in a world like this—so beautiful. Unpolluted.

Howard furrowed her brow. "What?"

"It's just…" Danse did not let go of the sketch. "I've never seen anything like this before. The Commonwealth is desecrated. Devoid of color. Hell, there aren't even pictures like this. You are one of the few people who remembers the world before the war."

She rested her chin in her hand. "I didn't capture what it looks like fully, I can assure you."

"I can't even imagine…" he said softly.

They were quiet for a few moments, as the sky darkened around them, the wind picking up and ruffling some of the paper trapped under his arm.

He wanted to get lost in her sketch. To go _there_. For real. He wanted to call her lucky for living in that world, but she would probably not agree.

Howard's plastic chair creaked under her in the silence. "Danse, do you…" She pushed her hair back from her temple. "God, this probably sounds idiotic. You could keep that, if you want."

"Really?" he began. "You—would let me have it?"

"Yeah," she said with a shrug. "I still have my memories. If it's truly that interesting to you-," She stopped and turned red. "That sounds pretentious, I'm sorry. You don't have to take it."

She reached out, but Danse pulled his arm and the scrap of paper back. "No, I want to."

A small smile played with the edge of her lip before she retracted her hand. "Okay. I hope you like it."

"I love it," he murmured, looking down again. He stopped himself and cleared his throat. "I-I mean, thank you. It's certainly generous of you to, er…"

"Don't worry about it," she assured him. "I should thank you for not laughing in my face after I showed you."

"I don't laugh often," Danse pointed out. "And certainly not at you for producing something so—outstanding."

Danse cleared his throat awkwardly again because he was being more complimentary than was appropriate for a Paladin. He wasn't just praising Howard's combat skills or something related to the Brotherhood—he extolled her for an entirely personal pursuit.

Still, he was keeping the sketch. He brought it closer to him and then onto his lap. "I should go," he said. "Confirm with Ingram about your power armor. I'm…glad you made it back alright."

"You didn't need to worry," she replied, though she was looking down at her manila folder as she spoke.

Danse stood. "You must be aware by now that I will be concerned regardless of the circumstances," he said, then nodded to her. "Goodnight, Howard."

She smiled at him. "Night, Danse."

Howard stood and turned away from him to gather up her pencils. A faint beam of sunlight hit her hair as it swung in front of her face, making it shine…. _red_.

He watched her for a few more moments, a little astonished that he hadn't noticed her hair color before. Why had it never occurred to him to catalogue anything about her physical appearance? Leave it to a Brotherhood soldier to not see something as obvious as _red_ hair.

Danse knew he probably looked a bit strange and that fear was confirmed when Howard straightened and furrowed her brow.

"Did you need anything else?" she asked.

"Your hair is red," he blurted out, and then immediately regretted it. "I mean—God. Never mind."

She reached up, almost as if to touch her hair before she stopped. "Auburn, I guess," she said with a bemused expression. "Always has been. I promise I didn't dye it while I was at the Railroad."

"I apologize for my outburst," Danse replied. "It was entirely inappropriate, and I should not have made such an observation." He stepped back, careful not to clench his fist and crumple the paper in his hand. "Goodnight, again, soldier."

Her eyes widened slightly in confusion. "Danse-,"

He cleared his throat and turned away, effectively cutting her off, though he could hardly hear her voice over the sound of his internal condemnation of his behavior, which mostly consisted of angry curses.

Why had he _noticed_ that her hair was red?

Decoding the Courser chip and bringing that information to Virgil meant that Addison was one step closer to her goal of infiltrating the Institute. And the closer she got, the harder she worked. Her racing thoughts kept her up in bed, and usually she didn't even try to sleep until it was well into the night—she constantly felt as if she wasn't doing _enough_ to find Shaun. Not being enough of a mother. Not that anyone thought much of her before in that regard anyway.

The good news was that Virgil's schematics for the molecular relay represented something she could actually _handle_. Fighting ghouls or Raiders was not her specialty. In fact, she was pretty terrible at it. But science? Putting things together? _That_ she could do, though she was loathe to admit it.

Addison did not have enough expertise to build the relay alone. After they returned from the Glowing Sea with Virgil's plans, Danse insisted that they immediately go to Maxson. Addison knew, in the pit of her gut, that the Railroad would be equally eager to get the information and upset that they were being denied the opportunity to find the Institute.

But it wasn't as if Addison could suggest to Danse's face that they share the schematics. The Railroad was supposed to be their _enemy_. She and Danse had been getting along so _well_ lately and to destroy all that comradery—well, she'd rather not consider the consequences and instead continue her attempts to compartmentalize her life.

Building the relay was going to take almost every resource they had. _All_ of Addison's collected junk had to be stripped for parts, and even then she already knew she would have to seek out more sophisticated technology from Vault 88. She would not be able to build the Institute's molecular relay by collecting a bunch of toasters. Luckily, when Ingram came down from the Prydwen to assist with the project, she brought a lot of things with her, including a brain that understood engineering far better than Addison did.

Ingram had the same work ethic as she did—one that dictated that they not rest until the project was done—but she was not one for _chatting_. Or saying any words at all, really. Perhaps that's what the Brotherhood was looking for in their high-level officers. Danse was certainly that way too. Probably another reason Addison would not make it very far with them—Paladin _Howard_ didn't have much of a ring to it.

Addison had collected a bin full of junk in the early morning. They'd already been working hard on the relay for a full week, and she was not ready to stop. She was trying to drag the bin over to the plot of concrete being used for the machine, but it was too heavy for her. She managed to drag it a few feet into the grass, red-faced and panting, before she had to stop.

She circled around to the back of the crate and tried pushing instead, all her weight pressed flush against it. Pain shot through her shoulder, but she managed about half a foot more.

"Howard?"

Addison craned her neck around and saw Danse standing with a bewildered expression behind her, wearing his Brotherhood jumpsuit. She could only see part of his face in the early morning light; she had not expected anyone to be up as early as her.

She used the crate to help her to her feet. "Good morning, Danse."

"You're going to hurt yourself like that," he said, as he closed the distance between them. He grabbed the crate on either side and hoisted it to his chest.

"Wha—Danse!" she interjected. "I can get it!"

Addison followed him with a frown when he didn't reply. He placed the crate down on the concrete slab once they reached it. Effortlessly. He wasn't even _sweating_. What gave that man the right to be so muscular?

"I don't need you to do everything for me," Addison remarked—if she were a different, braver person, perhaps she would have snapped at him.

His brow furrowed slightly. "I was only trying to help." He gestured to the half built machine. "I haven't been good for anything else lately. I don't have the skills for this."

She gave a short sigh, conceding that _perhaps_ he had a point. Rather than admit that, she knelt down beside the crate and began pulling out what she needed.

Danse stayed where he was, watching her. She did not know what had gotten into him, but he was much more talkative than usual. It was a nice change of pace because she enjoyed Danse's company. Still, it was odd coming from _him_.

"I thought you were a chemist," he said. "Why do you know how to build this?"

She shrugged. "I mean, it's…similar enough, I suppose."

"Or you're just very, very smart."

"Don't be ridiculous," she muttered, even if she did in fact know her own IQ. Her father had confirmed it when she was a child. She suspected it was his form of a paternity test—no offspring of his would have an average IQ.

A gust of wind rustled the tall grass around them and then skimmed the skin on her arm. The cold seeped right through her casual clothes, and she shivered.

"I didn't think the Wasteland had _seasons_ ," she said bitterly—because talking about the weather was much better than talking about her former life and skills again.

"I wouldn't call them that," Danse replied. "It does get colder near the end of December. But the weather's hardly predictable after the damage the radiation did to the atmosphere."

Addison stopped. " _December_ ," she began incredulously. "Has it…really been that long?"

"You've come very far in that time," Danse remarked.

She pushed her hair behind her ear, trying to remain focused, despite how hard her feelings of nostalgia hit her sometimes. Or her sadness over losing Nate. "It's not that. I just hate December."

"Why?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It was positively _freezing_ before. All the time," she said. "And I hate the cold. Plus…" Her fingernails tapped nervously against the metal plate she was holding. "I never liked the holidays. Christmas and stuff. Do people celebrate that here anymore?"

Danse crossed his arms. "In some form, I guess. There are decorations in some places, but I'm sure it's nothing compared to what you experienced."

"It wasn't all that great, in my opinion," Addison said with a snort. "All the holidays meant were that I got to go home and listen to my mother. She frequently wondered whether I'd gained weight, why I didn't have a husband yet. That kind of stuff." She stopped, suddenly not so nonchalant, and swallowed. "When the bombs fell, in October—that was the first year I was looking forward to Christmas. It was Shaun's first, and we were going to be together as a family and all that. A happy one. Just the three of us."

Addison cleared her throat and looked away. She didn't know why she'd said that to Danse. She had never gotten any signals from him that indicated he would be comfortable with that kind of emotional disclosure.

"I'm sorry," she said with a wave of her hand. "That was a lot of _words_ this early in the morning. It doesn't matter. There's…only me now."

Addison pulled out more pieces of junk from her crate, distracting herself with thoughts of what improvements she needed to make to the generator. Danse had not replied immediately, and she did not have the courage to peer up at him, lest her last comment had made him more uncomfortable than she imagined.

When he stood still in further silence, Addison finally looked up from her crouching position. He met her gaze and then knelt himself, a few feet away, with his hand on the lip of the crate.

"You know I'm not very good at this," he said.

"Good at what?" she asked.

His knuckles whitened from his tight grip. "We _will_ find your son, Howard. I promise."

Addison resisted the urge to bite her lip and shrink inward. "Do you say that because the Brotherhood wants to get into the Institute? And profiting off my drive to find Shaun will do that?"

Danse's brow wrinkled—he looked hurt, even. "I want to find him because you're—you're my friend, and I understood that friends were supposed to help one another be… _happy_."

"I'm sorry," Addison replied with a sigh. "I didn't mean to sound so callous. I don't-," She put down the metal circuitry she was holding. "The Commonwealth is much different now. I can't trust people like I did before, and I'm afraid it's _hardening_ me. I can't believe that anyone, even you, would help me out of the kindness of their heart after…all I've seen."

Danse nodded. "Most people here _can't_ be trusted," he said. "But what I like about—that is, what is…what's good about you is that you know who _can_ be. Trusted. You can't let yourself lose that instinct."

"It might just be the only skill I have," she admitted. "Clearly strength and pinpoint accuracy are not in my wheelhouse."

Danse stood, meticulously wiping the grit from the concrete off his jumpsuit. "You are a fine soldier, if not unorthodox. You will improve with time."

Her lip ticked up in a smile, and she nodded appreciatively to him. She heard his boots crunching in the tiny pebbles around them, signaling his departure, before he abruptly stopped. His back was facing her, and he turned his head to peek at her from over his shoulder.

"It's not… _only_ you here, you know," he remarked. "You might have been alone when you left the Vault, but…I'm here now. For you. I mean, with you. A-And the others, too."

Addison felt a rush of guilt, her lips pursed tight—she should not have said such ungrateful things when there were so many people here working to help her find Shaun. Danse had risked his life time and again, not because it was his duty, but because he was her friend. She could count on him for…absolutely anything.

"I—I know, Danse," she said. "I've never felt alone or scared with you, no matter how many terrifying situations we end up in. There's no one else I'd rather travel the Commonwealth with. Really."

She could not see Danse's expression because he still refused to face her, though his head lowered, and he nervously thrummed one set of fingers against his thigh.

His eyes flicked over to her eventually. "That's good," he said. "I mean—yes. That's good."

He shouldered off without another word, quick strides through the grass and then straight to his power armor workstation. Addison watched him for a while longer, then returned to her work, the sun fully risen and casting light across the half-built relay.

She wondered briefly what it meant that she no longer felt so alone in Sanctuary without Nate. The crushing guilt was first and foremost—that she somehow wasn't mourning Nate properly as her deceased husband. That she was too quickly forgetting how much she loved him and what it meant that he was gone.

Her quest, after all, was for him. For both of them, and their family. Addison had thought for so long that if Shaun came back, things would be better. But her life was improving on its own—because of Danse and Piper and all the others. Was that right? How could she be moving on when the loss of her family had hurt so much before?

Why did standing beside Danse make her feel the most safe and secure and at peace with everything she'd been though? Why did those feelings suddenly seem more _powerful_ than her sadness over Nate's death?

The guilt churned harder in her stomach, and she let out a slow breath from her nose to keep herself from spiraling into some emotional mess. She couldn't forget Nate, and she wouldn't forget their son. They were the last good things in her life, and they needed to be preserved, forever.


	16. Chapter 16

Danse spent little time helping Howard and Ingram with the molecular relay. His only use was to accompany Howard outside of Sanctuary when they needed to scavenge for rarer materials. It frustrated him. He wanted to keep Howard safe—as was his duty—and instead he just stood idly by while she contemplated _teleporting_ into enemy territory.

What, exactly, was Howard supposed to do when she arrived at the Institute? He didn't know _anything_ about how they operated. What if they merely shot her on site? Or if she never even materialized there in the first place?

Despite his reservations, the machine was built. Maxson was ecstatic. All the other Brotherhood soldiers, too. They didn't care that the first person who went through the relay might get hurt. Sacrifice for their principles and progress was at the core of their beliefs. Danse believed that for himself, but somehow the thought of that happening to Howard didn't make him _proud_.

Maxson wanted to be around for Howard's first attempt. They had checked and double-checked the circuitry, the generators—all to ensure that Howard didn't get blasted by this relay. Or dematerialized. Or whatever happened when something went wrong.

It was cold when Danse awoke that morning, so early that it was completely black outside. Maxson would not arrive for hours to see the first test of the machine. He slipped into his Brotherhood jacket, zipping it over his jumpsuit.

Danse knew he would _fret_ if he just sat around waiting for them to begin using the molecular relay, so he found refuse in working on his power armor. There was nothing wrong with it really, but there was no harm in double-checking.

The sun rose eventually. Light fell across the now-complete machine, the generators whirring gently in the silent settlement. He heard the distinct clank of power armor footsteps as Ingram made some final adjustments.

Danse was drawn to the moving shadows in Howard's living room. As if he could provide any real comfort to her now that she was awake. Still, he put down his tools and inched across the yard.

Dogmeat, asleep in his doghouse, did not even lift his head as Danse passed him to get to the front door. He peered around the threshold and saw Howard leaning against the counter on her elbows. Her hair fell past her shoulders as she bowed her head.

"Hey," Danse said, feeling awkward. He had no mission update or lesson to give her. He was starting a conversation solely to be _social_.

Howard smiled with her teeth. Always warm and polite with her greetings and never cognizant of how incompetent he felt most times.

"Morning, Danse," she said. "Are you making a habit out of finding me this early?"

"I'm—sorry," he replied. "I don't mean to bother you. I just-,"

Howard hastily waved her hand with a short laugh. "No, come on. I was kidding."

He blushed and was thankful it was still a bit dark. "Right." He walked further into the room, until he was standing on the other side of the island in what used to be the kitchen. "I came by to see if you—felt alright. About…"

"The relay?" she began with a small smile. "Do I feel alright about my body being broken apart at a molecular level and then reassembled miles away?"

"I—suppose that's not a very comforting explanation," Danse replied. He hesitated before he spoke again. "I want—I mean, you should know that I wish I could do something. To help. To ensure that no harm will come to you today."

She shook her head, still smiling slightly. "That's a nice thing to say, Danse, but there's nothing any of us can do. I have to take the risk, especially after I've come this far."

"If the Institute harms you, I promise I will destroy every vestige of that place," he said with a frown.

She cocked an eyebrow. "I thought that was already the Brotherhood's plan?"

"Well…" He shifted awkwardly. "I'll just do it faster, then."

Howard stood up straighter and pushed herself from the counter. "That's noble of you, Danse," she said. "I…I feel bad about our conversation a few days ago. I sounded ungrateful, and if there is anyone who has helped me the most, it's you. I should be more appreciative of all that you've done to get us here."

"It's my job," Danse replied quickly—always such a convenient answer when the alternative was not something he wanted to believe about himself or his feelings.

"The duties in your capacity as Paladin do not extend this far," Howard insisted. "And I owe you for that."

"You don't owe me," Danse protested. "It's…I wanted to help."

Her smile brightened. "Well, I got you something anyway."

"That's not nec-,"

She was already walking away towards the cabinets with one hand raised. "Now it's nothing _big_ , but I wanted to get everyone a little something for Christmas," she explained. "Well, it's not Christmas, but you should get it now in case…you know."

Howard had opened a cabinet and pulled out something. She spun on her heel and presented it to him with arms outstretched. Fancy Lad Cakes, as he expected.

"What's this?" he asked, as he lifted the edge of the red ribbon around the box. "Some sort of…decoration?"

She cocked her head. "I _wrapped_ it. Sort of. It's a gift. That's what we used to do." Her cheeks then flushed red like her hair. "I supposed it's rather silly. I just…"

"It's nice," Danse said hastily, not wanting to upset her, though he did not understand the utility of "wrapping" a gift. "Though I will admit that if you keep giving me all these cakes, I will not be as…" He stopped mid-sentence because he'd further inspected the box. The normally dingy plastic covering was clean and pulled taunt over the colorful cakes.

"These are in surprisingly good shape."

Howard beamed and put them in his hands. "They're preserved. No radiation or anything."

Danse pulled them closer in an abrupt motion. Food that wasn't irradiated? How was that possible? "Wait, what?"

"I found them in Vault 88," she explained. "Well, I _bought_ them in Vault 88. After some haggling. The vendor was not eager to let go of something so rare. All their food is not exposed to radiation, but no one makes Fancy Lads anymore."

"So…" He blinked and then looked up. "They taste different?"

She nodded. " _Very_ different. You'll like them."

The plastic crinkled between his hands. "Thank you, Howard. This is very generous of you. I…" _Didn't get you anything_ , he thought, though the words never left his lips. He wondered if it was appropriate for them to exchange gifts. He wondered if it was appropriate that he carried around one of her drawings and sometimes fell asleep at night looking at it.

"You deserve it," she replied. "You deserve something even nicer than that, probably. I was going to offer to do some modifications on your laser rifle, but I know how particular you are with that thing."

"No, I like this," he assured her. And it was true. She chose something that he would enjoy as _Danse_ , the person. Not the Paladin with the Brotherhood armor or weapons.

Danse's eyes darted over to the counter, and he wondered what to do next. He had not been given many gifts in his lifetime. Certainly not recently. He wasn't sure what… _to do_.

Howard had sat down on the rickety bar stool beside them, leaning one elbow against the counter. He shuffled his feet around so he was facing her. "You could have given this to me later," he said. "Nothing will happen to you in the Institute. You're going to be okay."

She sighed. "I wish I could believe that. But with my skills…"

He put his gift on the counter, the gesture moving him closer to her. "Why can't I come with you?"

"The relay only transports one person at a time, and it takes a lot of power to do it," she said. "Trust me, I wish you could come too. I'm…" She looked away towards the window. "I'm frightened of what I might find there. What they've done to Shaun. Whether he's even alive at all."

"Howard-,"

Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't know what I'd do if he's dead."

"He's not," Danse said gently, though he knew how illogical it was to say that. "He's not."

She took a deep breath after a few moments, her chest rising. "Sorry. I don't mean to get emotional."

Danse felt a pang of desperation shoot through him, and then his hand was covering hers as it sat upon the counter. He'd done it so instinctively it astounded him—he normally thought through _everything_ he did. His actions, his words, and yet with so little preparation he'd violated her personal space because…because he wanted her to feel _better_.

She didn't seem to think it was a violation. She didn't retract her arm in horror or scoff with disgust. Her head lifted, and her fingers shifted under his probably too tight grip. Her hand was warm, and softer than his, because her callouses were newer than the ones he'd had for as long as he could remember.

Danse felt something hard in her hand, odd against the gentle give of her fingers. It was cold, too. He realized belatedly that it must be her wedding ring. He'd taken the hand where she still wore it.

It made him feel uncomfortable. Guilty. She wore that ring because she still loved her husband. Mourned for him. Danse tried to tell himself he was only trying to comfort her, but…he wanted to be close to her, too. Which was _wrong_. Wrong because of her husband, wrong because _he was her Paladin_. Wrong because she'd never-

Danse retracted his hand so quickly he knocked the cakes by his elbow a few inches across the counter. "I'm sorry," he said hastily.

Howard looked surprised, her eyes wider, and she opened her mouth to speak.

"Danse?"

He wanted to make a hasty retreat, but he heard the clank of metal by the door and spun around. Ingram was there, face stoic as usual. He clenched his hands in panic because he wondered if she saw what he had done to Howard. She'd surely report such…inappropriate gestures to Maxson.

"You ready?" Ingram said to Howard, ignoring him. "Just spotted Maxson's Vertibird on the horizon, and I need your help with some final adjustments."

Howard was still perplexed, her eyes on him for a scant second before she shook her head. "Yes, of course," she said. "I'll…"

Howard looked at him again, but he kept his eyes ahead, ashamed. God, why had he made such a fool out of himself?

"I'll come with you now," she finished, and then he heard her footsteps past him, her body slipping between him and the counter. Then she disappeared through the door with Ingram.

Danse rubbed his fingers together, trying to forget what her hand had felt like against his. Those thoughts only brought intense guilt and embarrassment because he was clearly and repeatedly over-stepping his bounds. Fooled by her easy smile and the kindness she showed to _everyone_.

He needed to remember his mission. His career. What he'd pledged to the Brotherhood. He certainly hadn't promised to turn into some socially incompetent mess around one his recruits just because the two of them were…closer than he'd ever really intended. Or _wanted_ , more like.

Danse could not completely convince himself of that, so he let out an annoyed breath, then went to put on his power armor. Perhaps he would be dissuaded from such inappropriate gestures if he stayed in it forever.

The molecular relay didn't kill Addison. It hurt—or felt weird, at least—and then she was in one piece on her knees in a white, pristine facility that was cleaner than anything she'd seen since emerging from the Vault. She yanked out her pistol immediately, but no one was there. No hoard of Institute synths gunned her down, nor was she detained. She was alone.

Except for the voice that followed her up the elevator. The one that told her she had nothing to fear. Still, she held tight to her pistol as she descended up what she could see now of the Institute—floors upon floors of glistening white tile. She spotted men and women shuffling around, wearing crisp lab coats. _Clean_ clothes. They looked healthy, too.

The elevator stopped—another empty corridor, and now Addison was convinced she was going to be ambushed. God, she'd never wished so badly Danse were clopping around behind her, complaining about something. Maybe she wanted his emotional support, too.

A door hissed open in front of her to a small, clean room. There was a section in the corner cordoned off with glass, trapping someone inside. A small boy. Dark hair, reddish almost. Blue eyes like Nate's.

" _Shaun_!" Addison cried, rushing over as relief coursed through her. Tears welled up in her eyes once she reached the glass, her hand flat against it. "Shaun!"

The little boy looked up with a confused expression.

"Who…who _are_ you?"

Addison put her hand to her chest, through her elation was dampened by his question. "Shaun, it's me," she said softly. "I'm…I'm your mother."

"Father, what's going on?" Shaun demanded, standing on his toes and trying to look past her. "What's happening?"

Addison shifted on her feet. "No, sweetheart, your father isn't—he's not here," she said. "I'm your mom. I'm here to rescue you."

Shaun was ignoring her more and panicking more. How could it be that he didn't know who she was? What had the Institute done to him?

"I don't know who you are!" Shaun snapped. "Go away! Father, help me! There's someone here! Help!"

Addison knelt down. "Okay, Shaun. Okay," she said. "Stay there. Just calm down and stay there." She pointed to herself. "My name is Addison. Can you tell me where everyone is?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "You're trying to take me!"

Her lips quivered, and she looked down, the tears heavier now because this was _not_ how it was supposed to happen. Her son was supposed to remember her. To _love_ her like she desperately loved him.

A door slid open beside the glass, and she heard footsteps.

"Shaun," a voice said. "S9-23 recall code cirrus."

Shaun's eyes went blank—glassy—and his chin drooped to his neck. Like he'd been shut down.

Addison shot to her feet with her pistol pointed towards the door. An older man was standing there, with neatly trimmed white hair and a crisp lab coat like the others.

"Who the _hell_ are-,"

"Fascinating, but disappointing," the man remarked. "The child's responses were not at all what I anticipated."

Addison tightened her grip around her pistol because her hands were shaking. "What did you do to my _son_?" she demanded.

"There's no need for violence," the man said simply. "He's a prototype. We're using him in our exploration of the effects of extreme emotional stimuli."

Addison furrowed her brow and looked past the glass at Shaun. Or who she thought was Shaun. "H-He's a synth?" she began. "But he—if he isn't my son, then where is he?"

The scientist stepped closer. "Please try and keep an open mind. I recognize that you are emotional, and that your journey here was fraught with challenges." He spread out his hands. "Let's start anew. I am Father. Welcome to the Institute."

She wanted to put a bullet in this man's chest. Or a knee. So maybe she would get answers. She wanted Shaun. _Now_. She was so close.

But perhaps if this old man wanted to be polite, she could too.

"Nice to meet you, Father," she ground out. "I'm Addison Howard. Give me my son _right now_ or I'll kill you."

He raised his hands. "I know, I know. You've gone to such lengths to find him. Your patience and tenacity has been rewarded."

Addison lowered her gun and looked around. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Is he here? Do you-,"

She stopped and studied this _Father_ again. Her throat tightened the longer she looked—his hair was white, eyes blue, like anyone's could be, but his resemblance was striking to… _her_ father. Warren Clayton. Who had been in his early 60's when Addison had last seen him. Like this man.

Addison shook her head with a sharp exhale. "Who are you? Really?"

He smiled—the corners of his eyes wrinkling more than they already were wrinkled from age. "It's good to finally meet you after all this time." He reached out slightly. "It is me. I am Shaun. I am your son."

Her gun clattered to the ground. Danse would reprimand her for being irresponsible but how was she supposed to even stay upright when she felt like every fiber in her body was falling apart.

"Oh God," she whispered. "Oh _God_."

Kellogg's memories were older than she ever imagined. How could this be true when—when she'd sacrificed everything to find her _child_. Not a grown man.

"Shaun…How much time?" she asked hoarsely. "How long was I asleep after you were taken?"

"It's been sixty years," he replied. "I was raised by the Institute. Now I'm its leader."

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "Shaun, I'm so sorry. They _kidnapped_ you. It was wrong, and I should have…"

"Right, wrong, irrelevant," he said. "It was necessary. The Institute believed that humanity's future depended on it."

Her feelings mutated again—so exhausting because she'd be elated, crushed, disappointed, confused. "How could your abduction have been necessary?" she asked.

"When I was taken—the year 2227—the Institute had made great strides in synth production, but it was never enough," Shaun explained. "The Institute endeavored to make synthetic organics. The most logical starting point, of course, was human DNA."

She threw her hand out. "There was plenty of DNA in the Wasteland."

"It had all become corrupted. The radiation affected everyone. They needed another course of action," he said. "They found me, an infant, frozen in time. Protected from the radiation-induced mutations that had crept into every other human cell in the Commonwealth."

Addison studied him with her lips pursed. Why did he _lead_ the very people who kidnapped him?

"How did they know you were in Vault 111?" she asked.

"They discovered records after searching the Vaults in hopes of locating a suitable subject," he replied. "I was found, and the Institute rejoiced. Not only was I an infant, but the grandchild of Warren Clayton, one of the greatest scientists of his generation. I live in his legacy here."

Addison clenched her fist, but tried to remain calm. Her damn _father_ ruined everything.

"You live underground cowering from radiation because of his legacy."

"I was exactly what they needed," Shaun insisted. "My DNA was used as the basis for all synthetic organisms created by the Institute. On top of that, my scientific contributions to our work have helped the Institute move forward and further innovate."

Addison didn't know what she was supposed to do—believe him? Call him a liar? God, how could her son be so _old_. She'd virtually lost him. He'd been raised by someone _else_.

She wiped the heel of her palm over her eye. "I believe you, Shaun," she said softly. "I do."

Addison hesitated, but then moved forward. If this was her son, then she should treat him like her _son_. He was much taller than she was used to, considering that the last time she saw him he was an infant. Still, she gave him a hug like she'd wanted to when she imagined their reunion for all those months.

Shaun stiffened at first.

"Oh," he said, and then put his hand on her shoulder. "Well—oh."

Addison separated from him, but kept her hands on his arms. "Your father," she said tearfully. "He never got to see you grow up. He loved you so much."

Shaun sighed. "Yes, what happened to him was…" He trailed off and frowned. "I've gone over the records of the incident. It seems his death was an unfortunate bit of collateral damage."

Addison dropped her hands. How was the death of her husband—his _father_ —just collateral damage. "Shaun…"

"What matters now is that you and I have a chance to begin anew," he said. "Ultimately the Commonwealth has nothing to fear from us. Whatever you've seen or heard, I know I can convince you of that."

Addison pushed her hair back from her temple. "I'm not concerned about politics at the moment."

"I understand, but the Institute is on the verge of some important breakthroughs," he said. "Your presence would be…appreciated as we approach them."

"My presence?" she began incredulously. "What—are you saying, Shaun? That you want me to stay here?"

"I don't expect you to stay permanently," he said quickly. "But I would like for you to be a part of our team. You're a brilliant scientist. My mother. I think you'd enjoy spending some time here."

Addison hesitated—it was an appealing proposition. From what she'd seen of the Institute, it was clean, replete with supplies, _safe_. Her son was also here. Her son whose opinions of this place were not what she expected.

She couldn't in good faith pledge herself to the Institute _and_ the Brotherhood _and_ the Railroad. They were all diametrically opposed to each other.

But how could she say no to her _son_? Look into his blue eyes—Nate's eyes—and say _no_?

Shaun piped in when she did not respond. "I'm afraid there can be no more time for indecisions," he remarked. "The Institute can be your home as much as it is mine."

She shifted and crossed her arms. "Of course, Shaun. I want to know you. To learn about you."

He smiled—not too widely, but still polite. "That is wonderful news. I'll have someone show you your room and explain how you can get in and out of the Institute."

Addison's eyes darted over to the glass where the synth-Shaun remained motionless. It was unnerving.

"What will happen…to him?" she asked.

"The child, you mean?" Shaun said, walking over. "It's a fascinating project, really. There are issues to be solved, but we've made remarkable progress."

Addison pursed her lips to keep her frown from being too visible. "Is that all you think he is?" she asked. "A project?"

"It's a synth, not a human being," Shaun replied. "A simulacrum. Try to be more open-minded."

Addison thought it was woefully ironic that her _son_ was lecturing her. She was supposed to be his mother, raising him, teaching him things, not the other way around.

He looked the child synth up and down with a shrug. "I'll admit, I am a bit curious," he remarked. "As a parent looking for her child, for a younger version of me…" He gestured to the glass and looked at him. "What do you think? Do you think you could love him? Like a real boy?"

Addison put her palm flat against the glass. She didn't understand how anyone could look at that boy and not be capable of love. Not that it was immediate, but who cared what he was like on the inside? She did not look at him—or anyone—and see a synth. People were people.

She sharply shook her head. "I don't have to love him like a real boy. I have you."

"You didn't find the Shaun you were looking for," he said. "The boy is closer to what you expected."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have expected that," she replied. "I wanted to come here. Rescue you. See you as a child and not lose a single moment. But…that was unrealistic."

He nodded. "I am sorry this is not what you dreamed of."

Addison quickly stepped closer, her hands on his shoulders. "No, Shaun. That doesn't matter. I am so happy to have found you. Truly." She squeezed him. "I love you, son."

His eyes rose in surprise—and she was surprised, too. She did feel love for this— _man_ who said he was her son. But….when she said she loved him, she wasn't sure _who_ it was that she loved.

Howard fell to her knees again when she relayed _back_ to Sanctuary. Her body hit the cold steel of the transporter, and her palms flew out to catch herself. She stayed in that position for a few moments—she could see the scorched Earth a few feet away. Not the pristine tile of the Institute.

She was surrounded by people, probably drawn by the sounds the relay had made.

"Hey, you alright?" she heard Nick ask.

Addison lifted her head and then slowly rose to her feet. "I-I'm okay," she said shakily.

Nick shook his head with a small smile. "I'd assumed this Institute excursion of yours was going to be a one-way trip. Sure proved me wrong."

She looked past Nick and saw Maxson standing with a stern expression, Danse beside him. His hands were clasped tight behind his back, eyes on her. She had expected him to have rushed over, seeing as he was so protective of her. Yet he just stood there. Perhaps he was hyper-aware because of Maxson's presence?

"Knight," Maxson said sharply. "Report."

Addison's throat tightened, and she reached into her coat to get Ingram's holotape that she'd inserted into an Institute console. Perhaps giving them that first would save her from having to blurt out everything right away. She didn't know if she could handle it right now.

Addison shuffled over and placed the tape in Ingram's outstretched hand. She looked up at Maxson. "I'll have something for you soon," she said evenly. "I…I need…"

Danse shifted, brows arching in with concern, but he still didn't move. She walked past him through the grass—not caring if Maxson would demand more or disapprove of her lack of discipline.

She crossed the grass to her house and slipped inside. She wanted to sit down, but instead began pacing. She was back in this literal Wasteland, where she'd toiled for so long trying to find her family and—and it _failed_. Shaun was a grown man who led the very people who kidnapped him and _murdered_ her husband.

Christ, why was she so devastated even though Shaun was _alive_? A flesh and blood man who did not turn her out or kill her when she arrived at the Institute. That should be a cause for celebration, and instead a deep sadness prickled her skin. It swelled in her chest and _hurt_.

She did not want to cry over good news. But Shaun wasn't her baby anymore. Hardly her child, even. Raised by complete strangers—strangers who seemed to have imbued him with a set of moral principles that were unsettling. Far too much like her own father's beliefs about science and progress above all else.

She inhaled a shaky breath in an attempt to trap the tears behind her eyes. It didn't work. They broke through, and the face she'd washed in a fancy Institute sink was dirty again. Her baby and her husband were gone. _Gone_.

Addison strode over to her bedroom and collapsed at her desk. She unclasped her Pip-Boy and slid it off. Her skin was paler where she wore it compared to the tanner skin on the other parts of her arm.

In the drawer beside her, she stored the various holotapes she'd collected in the Commonwealth. She rummaged for one at the very bottom—that she'd listened to once and never had the courage to face again.

She thumbed the corners of the tape before she slipped it into the slot on her Pip-Boy. The tap whirred, spit out static, before she heard a familiar giggling sound and Nate's breathing. The sounds she'd listened to before she fell asleep for years.

She heard Nate's voice and let her head drop.

 _Hi, Honey. Listen, I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a mother you are, but we're going to anyway. You are kind, loving, and_ -

Shaun giggled, and the sound triggered a flood of memories. His laugh had made her so happy—the way his eyes would scrunch up, and his little feet would kick in his blankets. Nate loved to hold him and put his arm around her, gushing about their complete family and how _good_ everything would be.

Addison's hand shot out and smashed into the Pip-Boy, sending it sailing from the desk. It clattered to the ground, and she heard the screen crack before she let out a small sob.

She was supposed to get _everything_ back. That's why she had worked so hard in this terrible place. She wanted her _son_.

Now what? What was the point of her life? Of any of this?

Shaun was an adult. She'd never hear his laugh, or see his little smile. Or watch him grow. Hell, his hair was white. She never got to find out if he'd have her red hair or have Nate's blonde hair instead.

She'd clung so hard to the memories of her family for _what_? They were both gone. The world she knew was desecrated. She lived like a ghost, with no goals, no _nothing_.

Addison felt as if she'd failed Nate. As if she hadn't already been a poor wife and mother to him. She hadn't avenged his death or saved their son. There was nothing to bring to him back now.

She lifted her head and tried to wipe her eyes. Her hands were shaking, so she flexed her fingers and inspected them. She had worn Nate's ring even since she left the Vault even though she wasn't married anymore. It had been the nicest one money could buy back before the war.

Addison realized it was foolish to keep it on. She had wanted to believe she was still married, that somehow Nate would return if she avenged him and saved Shaun, but he was dead. _Dead_ , and wearing his ring only held her back. Reminded her of a life she'd never have. Not that there was anything to live for the in the Commonwealth.

The ring slid easily off her finger, and she dropped it on the desk. The metallic _clank_ echoed in the silence. She pushed it around the wood, crying again, before she clenched it in her fist and dropped it in the drawer.

She heard careful footsteps in the house, creaking under the cracked tile floor. She rubbed her eyes again once she heard a figure at the threshold of the bedroom. 

"Blue, I'm a little shocked the Institute just let you leave," Piper remarked, then she walked towards her and stood beside the desk. "Unless you're some sort of synth replacement…which is just crazy."

Addison smiled slightly, but also felt a twinge of disappointment that the footsteps hadn't been heavier. That it wasn't Danse.

"I promise no one replaced me," she said.

Piper leaned against the desk. "If you want to be alone, I can leave. But I figured I'd come tell you that I'm here for you. No matter what happened in there. We all are."

Addison wiped her nose. She had a knack for being ungrateful, it seemed. The news of Shaun was devastating, but at least she had someone to come home to that would support her.

"Thanks, Piper," she said. "I'll be alright."

Piper crossed her arms. "You're a damn hero, that's what you are. You _survived_ infiltrating the Institute. That Maxson guy looks ready to pee himself from happiness."

 _What about Danse_ , she wanted to ask, though she assumed he was happy that she'd come back with valuable Institute data. Completed her mission, like she was supposed to.

Piper shook her head in disbelief. "You'll finally be able to protect all those people in the Commonwealth who are being abducted," she said. "You've done more than I ever did."

"I couldn't have made it this far without your help," Addison replied. "And…"

She stopped because she didn't know if she would truly be able to stop the Institute from kidnapping people. Stop _Shaun_ from kidnapping people more specifically, since he ran the place now.

How was she supposed to continue to pledge that she would destroy all those scientists when her son was one of them?

It was all too complicated—with the Brotherhood, the Railroad and now Shaun? Addison would have been better off making no decisions about alliances at all. Instead, she chose sides, trying to _help_ , and now any choice between the three seemed almost impossible.

She still hated the Institute for what they did. Kidnapping. Murder. Brainwashing her son to believe those things were okay. Shaun wasn't someone she got along with on principle, but that did not mean she was just going to abandon him. Nate wouldn't want that.

If Addison could salvage what small piece she could of her family—and that meant keeping the Institute from being destroyed—she would do it. At least for now.

A few hours after her arrival back from the Institute, Howard was sitting alone on a picnic table just beside the creek in Sanctuary. Her feet on the bench, elbows rested on her knees, and her head bowed. Her shadow was silhouetted against the ground as the sun sank into the horizon in front of her. The light made her hair look as red as ever.

Danse had _zero_ information about what had happened in there, and it was killing him. Not because he wanted information about the mission, but because he wanted to make sure she was okay. He wanted her son to be alive almost as much as she did.

It had taken every single ounce of his self-control not to run to her when he saw her again. She was gone for an _unsettling_ amount of time. So long he was beginning to think she was dead.

Then she'd appeared again in that relay, and _Maxson_ was there. All Danse could do was stand at attention like a good soldier. A proud Paladin, not an emotionally attached friend. Maxson wouldn't have approved of such overt gestures of affection like he wanted to give her. He probably shouldn't approve of them either.

Danse had considered going to find her immediately under the guise of getting pertinent information from her for his report. Instead, Piper approached her first. He hesitated from his incompetence with emotional conversations, and someone else stepped in and took his place.

Eventually, he forged the courage to find her. He spent far too long steeling himself—he probably looked like a fool, standing a few feet behind her, thrumming his fingers together and just _staring_ because it was too intimidating for him to sit beside her and contend with comforting her.

Danse shuffled over after a few final seconds of waiting; he did not want to startle her, so he made sure his footsteps were loud and that he cleared his throat when he was closer.

Howard lifted her head and looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot—greener than he'd seen them before. Green like the grass before the war.

"Could I…sit with you?" he asked.

Howard sniffled and nodded, turning to face the creek as he circled around the table. He climbed up and sat beside her, the wood creaking under his weight.

They sat in silence for almost a minute.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted.

Howard sighed. "You probably want to know what happened to Shaun."

"If you want to tell me," he said.

Her lips tightened in a sad smile, voice wobbly. "He grew up."

Danse did not understand, though he hated that she was sad. "What do you mean?" he began. "Is he…is he alive?"

She nodded. "Yes. Kellogg's memories were older than I expected—the ones where I saw Shaun as a child. He's…" She ran her hand along the ridge of her brow. "He's older than that. Sixty years passed after he was removed from the Vault."

Danse sat up straighter. "So—he's older than you? Howard, I'm so-,"

She shook her head. "It's alright, Danse. I should be thankful that he's alive. I _am_ thankful."

"It's not what you expected," he remarked.

"No," she admitted. "No, it's not."

Danse watched her lips twist into a grimace, and then her eyes filled with tears. He trapped guilt in his chest as it threatened to consume him. He'd managed to make her cry when he only wanted it to be better.

"I was never fit to be a mother anyway," she said thickly. "It's probably better that he was raised by someone else."

"Don't say that," Danse replied. "I'm sure you would have been a great parent to him."

Howard buried her face in her hands. "I thought if I found Shaun everything would be better. That's all I cared about and now…" Her arms flopped back down in a defeated gesture. "Now I've got no chance at getting my old life back."

"If Shaun is still here, you have a chance at _some_ sort of relationship with him," Danse insisted. "Maybe not the one you expected, but he's still your child. No matter his age."

Her jaw clenched under her pale, freckled skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and an uncomfortable amount of tears trickled out, her body trembling. He'd said something wrong, of course.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I-,"

Howard waved her hand weakly, not facing him. "No, no. It's not you. I just…" She covered half her face, another wave of despair washing over her, this time wrenching a soft sob from her lips.

"Howard…"

"I feel like I'm being punished for what I did—f-for never wanting to be a mother," she blurted out.

"What?" he asked, leaning closer.

Howard trapped her arms between her legs and hunched inward. "If I tell you, you'll think so little of me."

"I won't," he assured her.

A sharp sigh left her. "This—what happened to Shaun—is exactly what I deserve. When Nate and I got married after I graduated, it was…expected that we would have children pretty quickly. Nate's father was a politician and those kinds of things looked good. It's what my mother expected too."

Danse studied her. "I guess you didn't want that?"

She wiped away the tracks from her tears with the heel of her palm. "I had no idea what I wanted. Usually I went along with what people asked of me, but _that_ …having a child—I couldn't acquiesce so easily." Her hand dropped. "Nate wanted children, but instead of talking to him about it, I just…"

Howard's eyes darted up to his, guilt evident past her tears. She seemed to care a lot about what Danse thought of her.

"I—don't know how familiar you are with the concept, but before the war women could take medication to prevent pregnancy," she said. "I told Nate that I had stopped taking mine. So we could try to have a baby. Except I was lying….I kept taking them behind his back. I didn't want a child."

Danse's brow arched in. "What?" he began incredulously. "You lied to him? Over that? Why…"

She sniffled. "I am not _brave_ like you, alright?" she said exasperatedly. "I was under so much pressure from my parents and Nate—it was just easier to _pretend_ like I was going along with their plan rather than…talk to them about it. I was coward, I know." Her fingers rose to the bridge of her nose and squeezed until her knuckles were white. "Worse than a coward. Nate didn't deserve to be treated like that."

"Where did Shaun come from then?" Danse asked.

"I'm Shaun's mother. I did get pregnant," she said. "But it was only after Nate found out what I was doing. I wasn't careful one day and…" Her eyes drifted to the creek, distant, traveling back to her memories of the Commonwealth Danse wished he shared. "He wasn't even _mad_. Just…disappointed. Crushed. He'd been so hopeful every month while I was just…fooling him."

Danse looked down at his hands. "He didn't leave you?"

"No," she said softly. "Though I wouldn't have blamed him if he had. It took a very long time for us to reconnect after that. A relationship isn't worth much without trust. He told me it was okay I didn't want kids, but after a year, I told him that I wanted to have a baby for real."

"And did you really want that?" he asked.

He understood now—about Howard. About her positively desperate drive to find Shaun. It was her love for him as a parent, yes, but also her over-compensating for the guilt over lying years before. She thought she had to be the _perfect_ mother just because she wasn't sure she wanted to be one originally.

Her brow creased thoughtfully. "I don't know. There was so much going on at that time. I was desperate to repair things with Nate and…and I _did_ want to make our own family. A happy one. But…" She shrugged. "After you spend your whole life being controlled, it's hard to…envision taking care of yourself and someone else. I didn't want to do something I wasn't equipped for."

Howard leaned back, her shoulders arching in a stretch. "Apparently God or _someone_ agreed with that. I never wanted a child and now it's practically as if I didn't have one."

"Shaun is still _yours_ ," Danse insisted. "You can't give up when there's still a chance to connect with him."

Howard made a frustrated sound. "You don't understand," she said. "He's—his _opinions_ …" She bit her lip and turned away. "He sounds just like my father. The things that he says about _progress_. It's…"

Danse paused. "If Shaun is an adult, what does he do at the Institute? Is he a scientist?"

Howard did not respond immediately. She curled her fingers around her knee and swallowed. "I'm afraid if I tell you, you'll go straight to Maxson."

Danse pushed himself away from the table slightly. "If it concerns the Institute, I have a duty to tell him. So do you."

"But Danse, it's bad. I don't want you to tell anyone."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Why would you want to hide something from the Brotherhood?"

She let out a sharp breath. "It's not _hiding_ ," she said. "I only—it's…" She shook her head. "I thought you came to _comfort_ me. Not interrogate me."

"I'm not interrogating you," Danse insisted. "But you should disclose all the information you know about the Institute to the Brotherhood."

"Even if it might hurt my son?" she asked. "Is that not supposed to matter to me?"

"Who your son is does not change the fact that the Institute needs to be destroyed."

She rose to her feet, her shoulder turning from him. "You'd tell Maxson anything. No matter what I asked."

Danse stood, unsettled by her sudden change in behavior. "Howard, if your son has some deeper connection to the Institute, then Maxson needs to know. We still intend to destroy them."

"I know that you do," she snapped, and his head jerked back in surprise. "I know that _nothing_ I ever say or do or need will matter more than your _mission_." She put her hand against her temple. "Why did I bother confiding in you when everything I say will end up in some Brotherhood report?"

Howard threw her arm up in a defeated gesture and started for her house in a hasty retreat.

"Just _wait_ ," he pleaded, grabbing a hold of her hand to keep her from going far.

She spun around with a frown. "Danse, I—don't want to talk right now."

"Please listen," he said. His hand tightened around hers and the next thought that struck him scattered his words to the wind. Instead of speaking, he raised her hand a few inches and looked down at it.

There was the soft, warm flesh of her fingers and _nothing else_. No ring. Had she lost it? Forfeited it? Given up hope on her family now that Shaun was no longer a boy?

God, Danse felt as if he were losing his _mind_. Snagged on frivolous details—a starving man scrambling for mere _meaningless_ morsels.

He released her wordlessly.

"Normally when you ask someone to _listen_ , you say something afterwards," Howard remarked. "Unless you plan on lecturing me on my dedication to the Brotherhood."

Danse didn't know what to say—there were too many competing lines of thought in his mind—so he fell back again on that damned _instinct_ of his that had only ever gotten him into trouble.

"I won't tell Maxson," he said. "Whatever Shaun does."

Her lower lip dropped slightly in surprise. "You mean that?"

Danse clenched his fist because what he'd said was _highly_ against protocol. And yet he wasn't going to take it back.

"Yes, Howard, but _you_ must tell Maxson," he said. "When…you're ready. He will be more understanding than you think."

She shook her head. "Danse, my son _runs_ the Institute. He's the Director. Their Father."

He tried to contain his surprise. "Are you serious?" he began, then sighed. "God, I guess I don't know what else I should have expected."

"How am I supposed to admit that to Maxson?" she asked. "Am I supposed to pledge to continue the complete annihilation of the Institute when I just got my son back?"

Danse did not want to admit that at another time her comments would have sounded borderline _treasonous_ to him.

"We will find a way," he insisted. "Perhaps your son can be spared, but the Institute must be stopped from terrorizing the Commonwealth."

She blinked and looked down. "I know."

"Maxson might find out this information anyway," Danse said. "Ingram's holotape might have downloaded that data."

"I'll find a way to tell him," Howard replied. She bit her lip. "I apologize for losing my temper with you."

Danse ran his hand through his hair. "That was not losing your temper, Howard. I think you're far too polite to ever do that."

She shrugged. "Perhaps if I was pushed hard enough."

"I don't want to do that," he said. "I came here to help, and I'm sorry that I failed."

"You didn't," she muttered. "This is…intensely personal, and I'm glad to have found my son, but…." She wiggled the fingers on her left hand. "I've been living in the past ever since leaving the Vault."

"I don't blame you," Danse replied. "That life—well, I can see why you wanted it back."

She gestured out to the creek. "I can't have it back. This is my home now. I don't have a husband or an infant son—that's over and finished." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Maybe my life doesn't have to be terrible forever. You know, going forward."

"Absolutely," he said, though his words felt tangled after that. "I've found that I…that there are certain people that can often make the bad here seem less…." He cleared his throat and looked down. God, what was he even _saying_?

"What I meant was that my work is very rewarding and that trying to make the Commonwealth a better place makes me—content."

Howard's brow rose slightly in a bemused look. "I like my friends, too, Danse. I thought without Nate I'd feel alone forever, but…I don't." She gave him a small smile. "I guess I have you to thank for that."

Danse swallowed, but resisted the urge to look away from her. Or run away. From Sanctuary completely.

"Well you are—welcome," he said. "You know I'm always willing to be here for you." He reddened. "I mean, not _here_. At this table. Probably more-so around, you know, my armor stand. But-,"

She chuckled. "I understand, Danse. That's sweet."

Danse stiffened because he should not be described by his subordinate as _sweet_. Or caring. He should be intelligent, reliable, trustworthy, respectable—not anything _emotional_.

He should set her straight, shouldn't he? Endeavor to define the boundaries of their relationship as required by his duty as a Paladin? Soldier to soldier not—anything _else_.

She smiled again, wider, and reached out to squeeze his arm. In a perfectly polite gesture that normal people made. It wasn't something that _meant_ anything. Even if it was her now ring-less hand that drew far too much of his attention.

He decided to say nothing about the boundaries of their relationship. He just let her walk away.

Addison did not sleep much in the days after she returned from the Institute. She started to feel like Danse, who was an insomniac to the highest degree. She was so…listless. Her quest for Shaun had consumed her, and when it ended, she thought she would be elated or crushed. Instead, she was ambivalent. Her son was alive, but he was not the person she expected.

Of course, Addison had a list as long as her arm of other tasks that needed her attention. Preston was always asking for help with settlements, there were groups of Raiders everywhere that needed to be exterminated—yet all that seemed so…pointless, _bleak_ after everything that happened.

She did have one mission in mind to lift her spirits, though probably not Danse's. Shaun had asked her to return to the surface to retrieve a rouge synth that was posing as a leader of a Raider gang. Addison was happy to help, mostly because she knew this was one of the ways she could get closer to her son.

Danse would not go with her—she didn't even _ask._ She couldn't. He'd accuse her of being a traitor and kick her out of the Brotherhood, or worse, she'd lose _him_ and the comfort he provided as of late.

Addison decided to ask Piper for help instead. She was a reporter and wasn't always discreet, but Addison trusted her.

The two of them were gathering their things just outside the workshop, packing for a few days trip south past Diamond City.

Piper dropped at least three packs of cigarettes into the top of her bag. "You never told me what we're doing," she said. "Any fighting?"

"Probably," Addison replied. "Pack extra ammo."

Piper stopped and furrowed her brow. "Wait, you've got some enemies to take down and you don't want to take Danse?" she began. "Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered, but you bring him _everywhere_. Big guy, big gun, big suit and all that."

Addison shrugged. "I just thought I'd bring someone else."

Piper made a surprised sound. "Are you two fighting? Is this a lover's quarrel? Did-,"

"Oh come on!" Addison said exasperatedly. "We're not lovers, don't be ridiculous." She stopped and ran her hand through her hair. "T-To be honest, I asked you to come because we're helping my son, and I'm just not sure Danse will approve."

Piper snorted. "You know I'm a journalist, right?" she asked. "I can tell you're lying."

"I'm not," Addison insisted as she clasped her bag shut.

"When you say _helping your son_ , what you really mean is that you've joined the Institute, right?" she asked. "I know he probably asked you since you're a scientist-,"

"I am not a scientist," she muttered.

Piper sighed. "You can't keep toeing the line like this," she said. "Brotherhood, Railroad, Institute—you _really_ think that's okay?"

Addison clenched her jaw because she _hated_ conversations like this. Confrontation. "This is not worth discussing," she said simply, then she threw a polite smile in her direction. "I've got it handled."

Piper pulled down her cap. "Alright, Blue. Have it your way."

Addison slung her bag over her shoulder and heard a familiar sound. When she turned, Danse was standing in his power armor behind them. Because apparently the early morning was an appropriate time for a full suit of metal.

"Hello, Howard," he said, then nodded to Piper. "Civilian."

"Piper," Addison corrected reflexively—because she'd told Danse a million times that calling people _civilian_ was not polite.

"Right, yes," he said. " _Piper_."

Piper hiked her own pack up her arm. "Turning your boyfriend into a softie, are you, Blue?"

Addison gave her an annoyed look—Danse would not appreciate those jokes like she could. He was far too serious and concerned with _decorum_. He would probably be afraid the innocent ribbing would be heard by someone at the Brotherhood.

"Danse isn't-,"

"I'm going to get some more supplies," Piper interrupted with a smirk. "I'll leave you alone."

Addison huffed while she scurried off, red coat flapping behind her.

"I'm sorry about their teasing," she said. "It's—good natured, I promise."

"I understand," Danse replied, surprisingly unperturbed. "I think."

Addison finally turned to him and looked up. "Did you need something?"

He pointed where Piper had disappeared. "Are you leaving with her?"

She nodded. "Yes. Nothing serious. Just…something personal she needs help with."

Addison wished she felt worse about lying, but it was a natural impulse for her.

Danse's brow furrowed in consternation. "Well, be careful out there." He paused. "Perhaps I could-,"

She quickly waved her hand. "No, Danse, come on. You've got a million things to do with the Brotherhood."

He shifted, his power armor clanking. "I suppose, but if you needed—I mean, my sponsorship of you is clearly a priority."

Addison smiled slightly. She didn't understand why Danse was always couching their relationship so _professionally_. "I promise you've been an excellent sponsor. I won't need you for this mission. You've taught me well."

Danse snorted. "I'm not sure that's true."

"What do you mean?" she asked. Danse was not exactly… _competent_ at some things, but he was certainly a good Paladin.

"I-It's nothing," he said quickly. "I apologize."

Addison crossed her arms and leaned closer. "You know you can talk to me about anything."

Danse cleared his throat, eyes darting away. "That's…kind of you." He lifted his head. "Perhaps we can talk later. It's nothing serious. There was an incident with—Haylen, and well…"

"If you're sure," she said. "We can meet up on the Prydwen. Spend our nights _talking_ around the fire as opposed to sitting in silence."

"Silence can be comforting," Danse replied indignantly. "And an asset in building relationships. Professional ones."

Addison laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

He watched her with a small smile playing on his lip before he reddened. "I don't mean to prevent you from starting your journey," he said quickly. "But I—got something. For you."

Danse continued to speak as he popped open the compartment on his armor. "I felt it was appropriate given your holiday gift to me. Or Christmas gift. Whatever its called."

She shook her head. "No, Danse, it's okay. They were just _cakes_. People don't give gifts expecting something back."

"I wanted to," Danse said. "You've…taught me a lot. As much as I've taught you about combat, probably. So here."

He pulled out a bundle—she recognized the texture of the paper wrapped around whatever her gift was. It was an old issue of the _Boston Bugle_ that was still floating around 200 years after its publication.

Addison couldn't help but smile broadly. "You wrapped it."

"It's a pathetic attempt," Danse said. "But I thought that perhaps…" He sighed. "I know that the Christmas you wanted before the war won't ever… _happen_ , but that doesn't mean it has to be all bad. I wanted to help make it better."

Addison had to stop herself because she wasn't sure how to react. Danse was so intensely _serious_. He had been compartmentalizing their relationship for so long, and now he was putting effort into the friendship part. She never thought in a million years that Danse would think of her beyond the role of soldier, but he was actually, _earnestly_ trying and it was endearing. Really…quite endearing.

"You do make it better," she said softly, and then accepted the proffered gift.

It _was_ wrapped terribly—just rolled in the newspaper, really, but she unfurled it with a grin anyway. She was expecting bullets. Some sort of grenade or maybe a tool.

The gift was pencils. _Colored_ pencils. Nice ones that had never been used before—bright against the crinkled black and white newspaper.

"Oh Danse," she murmured. "This is too kind." She looked up at him. "Where did you get them?"

He gestured back towards the road. "While you were in the Institute, Carla that vendor came to Sanctuary. Most of her stuff is just junk, but when I asked, she had them."

"They weren't expensive, were they?" she asked. "I don't want you to-,"

"Don't worry about it," he insisted.

Addison tightened her grip on the pencils to bundle them together and slide them into her bag. "Why did you pick these?" she asked. "I'll be honest, from you, I expected another weapon."

His lip ticked up. "I assumed you would appreciate something not related to combat. I…" The fingers of his suit fluttered almost imperceptibly. "I know that you struggle sometimes, trying to fit in here in the Commonwealth. And that you struggled with that before the war, too. But this hobby seems like an important piece of you, that makes you happy, and when I saw them, I knew it would be perfect."

Addison blushed bright red and let out a small giggle that she tried to trap behind her lips. God, was this really _Danse_? The big, stuffy Paladin who never shared his emotions or seemed to care about anyone else's?

She had known all along—though he didn't show it—that Danse was a good person. But now his morally upright character was transforming into kindness directed at _her_. Acts that warmed her heart and were definitely some of the most thoughtful things anyone had done for her in the Commonwealth.

Addison leaned forward in a snap instinct, but then her hands were touching the cold metal of the armor on his chest and she stopped.

"Oh."

"What-," Danse looked uncomfortable, but did not move from their closer proximity. "What is it?"

She grinned. "Well, I was going to hug you to thank you, but…" She gestured to his armor. "I'd probably lose a hand in those sharp metal spaces."

He glanced down. "Yes, you should not… _hug_ power armor. It's not safe."

She shook her head. "I was trying to hug _you_."

"Well-," He shifted and looked sideways—she could see the flush in his cheeks. "There's no need for you to give me any thanks, but…perhaps later, w-we could-,"

"Hey, Blue! Hurry up!"

Piper's voice rang sharp across the road, and Addison's neck snapped around. She surprised herself because she was _frowning_. Deeply. Annoyed that she wasn't getting to…hug Danse, apparently.

Addison huffed. "Rain check."

"What?" he asked.

She tightened the straps of her bag. "Sorry. Old talk. It means later." She smiled warmly. "The hug, I meant. Maybe I'll even have something drawn up when I get back."

"I'd love to see it," Danse said, then cleared his throat. "A-And we could-,"

Piper whistled shrilly from across the street and waved her hand. It made Danse step back. "Never mind. Goodbye, Howard. Please stay safe."

"I'll see you soon," she said, backtracking towards Piper and contemplating ways to throttle her. She stopped mid-step. "I'll miss you," she added. "Us, traveling. Sitting in silence around the fire. Getting to sleep the whole night because you're so stubborn."

Danse blinked, eyes on her during a few silent beats before he quickly shook his head. "I-I'll miss you," he said, though he said it so quietly it was more reliable to watch his lips move than hear the words. It was almost as if he was saying it to himself.

Addison waved to him, and then turned down the road. She desperately wished she could take Danse along on all her missions, especially considering how…close they were, but with a guilty twist of her stomach, she realized they weren't close _enough_ to allow that to happen.

Addison and Piper successfully recaptured the synth that was holed up as a Raider at Libertalia—the fight wasn't too hard because Addison took out most of their targets with her sniper rifle from further away. A much more pleasant way to fight than in close quarters like her friends preferred.

Addison was slightly uncomfortable with the motivation behind their mission. The Institute wanted her to recapture this synth and use a recall code so that his memory could be completely wiped and his hardware reset. It seemed…inhumane to do that to someone with such life-like features, passions, and goals. Yes, it was unfortunate that this synth was hurting people as a Raider, but…perhaps he had a right, like other humans, to do what he wanted, and not be "re-programmed" to merely serve the Institute.

She did not express any of her concerns. She was afraid of alienating Shaun and losing him when she had just gotten him back. At least this solution was better than simply killing the synth— _all_ synths—like the Brotherhood wanted to do.

Addison decided it would be best to group some of her missions together while she was with Piper—the ones that Danse could not see her doing. After they had finished on the Libertalia, they headed back to Diamond City to visit the Railroad Headquarters.

Deacon wasn't an idiot. Far from it, actually. Addison knew that he probably found out about her molecular relay and the work she was doing with the Brotherhood and reported it. Desdemona would not be happy, and Addison only hoped she could somehow convince her that she still cared for the status of synths as much as before.

Addison's suspicions were confirmed when she slipped through the door of the Headquarters and saw Desdemona across the room leveling a glare in her direction. Addison hurried over, resisting the urge to rest her hand on her pistol.

Desdemona crossed her arms. "I just heard the most fascinating rumor," she began acridly. "The story goes that you actually _found_ the Institute. Been there _and_ back again. Sounds crazy, right?"

Addison smiled politely. "It sure does."

She frowned. "That's not a denial." Her arm shot out sideways. "Deacon has _proof_ that you used teleportation to get inside the Institute. We know you got there with the help of the Brotherhood."

"Listen, Dez-,"

"My _hope_ is that you've infiltrated them for us," Desdemona said. "Or at the very least, your true loyalty lies with us."

Addison was panicking, heart racing, because she honestly didn't know _what_ she was doing. _Had_ she infiltrated the Brotherhood? The Institute? Who the hell was she really working for?

"You know I care what happens to synths," she said simply.

Desdemona shook her head. "Now that the Brotherhood knows where the Institute is, in time they will mount an offensive."

"Isn't that what the Railroad wants too?" Addison asked.

She nodded. "Yes, but when _they_ do it, they'll slaughter everyone in the Institute. Men, women, children, and every synth they can find."

Addison did not want that to be true, though it probably was. She grimaced. "Danse wouldn't— _they_ wouldn't…"

Desdemona made a disgusted noise. "You can't _seriously_ be considering working with the Brotherhood. They view synths as abominations."

"You—you can't paint them with such broad strokes," Addison insisted. "Some of their men have been with me every step of the way when I was trying to find my son."

"Don't mistake that for _compassion_ , Howard," she replied sternly. "They used you. While you were out looking for your son, they found a way into the Institute."

Addison swallowed thickly—Dez didn't know _what_ she was talking about. Danse didn't use her. Did he? She hadn't quite been the traditional Brotherhood recruit, but Danse had seen something in her. That's why he wanted to sponsor her. Not because she came from the Vault.

Addison wiped those thoughts from her mind and sighed. "I don't know what you want from me, Dez."

She stepped closer. "I want you to help us. I respect you far too much to believe that you'd participate in such a bloodbath."

Addison couldn't believe that Danse would endorse that kind of violence, but maybe Desdemona had a point. That was certainly the Brotherhood's style, and it's not that Danse necessarily _wanted_ those things, but he would certainly follow _any_ order Maxson gave him. No matter the cost. Perhaps that was just as bad.

Addison pushed her hair from her forehead. "You know I'll help you. What do you need?"

Desdemona's smile was curt, but still there. "I'm relieved to hear that, Howard," she said. "I have a new mission for you, and it concerns the most closely guarded secret the Railroad has."

"Which is?"

"There's a man or a woman—we're not sure—inside the Institute who helps synths escape to freedom. We call them Patriot."

Addison's brow rose. "Wow. I had no idea you had that kind of help."

"Dozens of synths owe Patriot their lives," Desdemona said with a nod. "We don't know his name. We've never had a way to make contact. _You_ need to infiltrate the Institute and do that."

"Okay," Addison said. That sounded easy enough—though it was _easy_ because her son trusted her to roam freely around the Institute. Trusted that she was on their side, like everyone else did.

"Tom devised a way to send a message to Patriot," Desdemona explained. "We can plant a coded message on an Institute terminal, and, if all goes well, he'll respond."

"I should be able to do that," Addison assured her.

Desdemona still looked guarded, but nodded anyway. "Good. Go speak to Tom now. He'll give you the details."

Desdemona brushed past her without another word, as she was prone to do. Addison remained rooted in her spot, raising her fingers to the bridge of her nose. If she kept this up, _eventually_ , she would not be able to explain away all her acts with these other factions. One day, Maxson, Des, or her son _wouldn't_ believe her, and they would cast her out as a traitor.

Or worse, they'd kill her.


	17. Chapter 17

After Howard's successful infiltration of the Institute, plans in the Brotherhood began to move quickly. Maxson was eager to capitalize on Howard's intel and use it to destroy the Institute.

A large part of that plan was shrouded in secret—some things not even Howard knew. Maxson intended to use the pre-war robot Liberty Prime to destroy the Institute in one fell swoop. It was an ambitious plan, but Danse was confident it would be a successful one.

Howard had been asked to meet Ingram in an area of the airport partitioned off from the rest of the Boston base to learn more about Maxson's initiative. Danes went down ahead of her, venturing into the large room filled with old terminals, miles of wire, and the salvageable pieces of Liberty Prime.

Ingram was standing by the robot's head as it lay on the ground, dingy and lifeless, though still impressive because of its size. Even he felt small beside it in his power armor.

Ingram had a scowl on her face, probably because her newest assignment had been giving her more trouble than she asked for.

"Damn robot," she said under her breath before she lifted her eyes and spotted Danse. Instead of giving a greeting, she frowned more. "What are you doing here?"

"Maxson wants you to brief Knight Howard on the rest of his plan and what role Liberty Prime plays in it," Danse explained.

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Which requires your presence because…?"

"I'm her sponsor," he replied indignantly.

"Yeah, yeah," Ingram muttered. "Well, I'm glad she's coming by. Might know about this pile of junk from before the war and how to get it up and running."

"Liberty Prime was never used in battle," Danse said. "It sat in the basement of the Pentagon because it did not function properly. It's doubtful Howard is familiar with it."

Ingram tapped Liberty Prime on the head. "You sure know your history. Have any idea how to fix this yourself?"

"Not at all," Danse replied. "You think Howard will?"

Ingram shrugged. "She helped me with the molecular relay," she said. "A fast learner and pretty damn smart. I've been thinking about asking her to join my team."

"What?" Danse asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Ingram said. "Howard's not much of a field operative like you. She's only just become familiar with defending herself, so I thought she might feel more comfortable in my workshop full time. She'd be a great asset. Once you're done sponsoring her, of course."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Danse said immediately.

"Why?" she asked, brow furrowed.

He shifted and looked down. "Because-," _She wouldn't be with me_.

God, it hurt that he wanted to say that. He wasn't an idiot; he knew those feelings were not okay. He wanted Howard with him above all else—even though she might be better suited somewhere safer. Serve the Brotherhood in a more logical capacity.

He didn't care. He just didn't want to lose her.

What could only be worse is if Howard began to _respond_ to him. He doubted she would—her husband seemed like a much better choice than him. But more damning to his job than his one-siding pining was a mutual romantic affair between him and the soldier he sponsored. It was explicitly prohibited.

"Because _why_?" Ingram repeated impatiently.

Danse cleared his throat. If Ingram knew the nature of his feelings for Howard, he would get in trouble. And it would likely happen soon. All those moments he remembered fondly between he and Howard, if observed by anyone else, would lead to disaster.

"It's her choice," Danse said. "Howard's. She can do what she wants."

"I agree," Ingram replied, then she snorted and shook her head. "Though to be honest, I never thought she would be of any use to the Brotherhood at all. When I saw her for the first time, I thought you were playing a joke on me."

"I don't play jokes on people," Danse replied flatly.

"Yeah, I know," she said with a wave of her hand. "My point was that she ended up being a good addition to the team."

"I agree," Danse said, yet he was afraid to admit something basic like that for fear that his poorly hidden sentiments would be discovered.

The large metal door across the room opened again, and Howard appeared. She had her rifle slung across her back, but was otherwise wearing no armor.

She smiled politely at them both, but that expression quickly faded as her eyes fell beside Ingram.

"Is that Liberty Prime?" she asked incredulously.

Howard stopped in front of Ingram, who cocked an eyebrow. "Danse said you wouldn't know about this. That it never went into battle or the public eye."

Howard was inspecting Liberty Prime's head; she looked positively dwarfed by it. "Not the public eye, no. But Liberty Prime was originally envisioned as a way to quickly and bloodlessly end the Sino-American War."

"What happened instead?" Danse asked.

Howard straightened and put her hands on her hips. "The US contracted Robco and General Atomics International to build the robot. The operation did not run smoothly, and eventually it was abandoned in favor of releasing power armor for the first time." She weakly waved her hand towards Ingram's armor. "Hence, my father's fame and fortune as the creative mind behind the fusion core. I always thought he pushed for the Liberty Prime project to be cancelled sooner than necessary, since he was on General Atomics' board. It was better for him, but the fight in Anchorage was a lot bloodier because of it."

Danse was not surprised to hear that story. Howard's father had certainly made his mark on the world—a mark that subsequently destroyed it.

She circled the table beside Ingram. "Have you made Liberty Prime operational before?"

"Yes," Ingram said. "We used it in the Capital Wasteland, but now I can't get the CPU working. Every time we try to feed power to it, it blows itself out."

Howard shook her head. "I'm no expert at this either," she began. "But when I was in the Institute, Maxson asked me to recruit a scientist who formerly worked for the Brotherhood. Madison Li. I think he wants her to help."

Ingram just grunted—she was very particular about who she was willing to work alongside, and an Institute scientist did not sound like someone she would take kindly to. Still, Danse knew Howard would be successful at convincing Dr. Li to join them again. That was her skill set after all.

"I'm sure you'll be able to recruit her," Danse remarked, despite his better judgment.

Howard smiled at him, with her straight and white pre-war teeth, and he felt a blush rise to his cheeks. A terrible, inappropriate shade of red currently visible to someone _else_.

He then realized as his eyes darted guiltily over to Ingram that something would have to change. First, he was far too paranoid about benign comments between he and Howard to stay sane. If he worried constantly that he would be exposed for his feelings, the stress would ground him.

Worse than that, Danse was letting his feelings interfere with his job. His reflexive insistence that she stay with him was not in the best interests of the Brotherhood, yet he said it anyway.

Maybe it _would_ be better if Howard ended her sponsorship with him and worked with Ingram instead. She would be safer. Happier, maybe. And away from _him_ , which might allow these feelings he had to fade from his memory. Part of him doubted that would happen. He'd just miss her more.

After Addison discussed her ideas for refurbishing Liberty Prime—paltry ideas, at best—she returned to the Prydwen. When she did not see Danse at dinner in the mess hall, she decided to look for him. His company was the best she could find on the ship. Or maybe anywhere.

He was not on the Command Deck or in his quarters, so Addison peeked outside into the darkness to see if he was getting some fresh air. As fresh as the air could be in the Commonwealth, anyway.

Danse was at the end of the ship that hovered above Fort Strong, in his coat and Brotherhood jumpsuit. Addison approached him eagerly—she wanted to have a conversation with him when he was out of that damned power armor. He seemed to be wearing it more than usual lately.

"Danse," she said, in between the echo of her footsteps against the metal grates below them.

He turned, looking surprised, and straightened. "Oh, hello, Howard. I—didn't see you there. Anything to report?"

Addison rested on the railing next to him. "No," she said with a shrug. "I just…thought I would stop by, see if you were ready to have that conversation from earlier."

"Conversation?" he asked.

She gestured out into the darkness—the stars were brighter than she'd seen them when the city of Boston was a bustling metropolis. Perhaps one good thing to come out of all the madness from the war.

"You said in Sanctuary that you wanted to talk about Haylen."

"Oh," he said faintly. "No, actually, I—no."

Addison furrowed her brow. "Did it get resolved or…?"

Danse stepped back. "You have a lot of things on your mind, and I shouldn't burden you with this."

He started walking away, and Addison reached for his arm. She felt the muscles under his jumpsuit tense immediately, and he froze.

"Danse, come on, you know you can talk to me about anything," she insisted. "You're not _burdening_ me."

Addison stepped closer to him, but he was not looking at her. She did not understand why he was being so cagey all of the sudden.

"Would you please tell me?" she asked gently. "So I don't worry about you."

Danse's eyes darted up for a few seconds, the chords of muscle in his neck contracting when he clenched his jaw hard. He stepped back towards the railing, relenting to her request, though more grudgingly than she expected.

"I, uh—this might seem like a strange question, but…what do you think of Scribe Haylen?"

Addison moved beside him. It _was_ a strange question. "She's a great soldier, Danse. A real team player."

"I agree," he said. "But I wasn't looking for an evaluation of her performance as a soldier. I wanted to know what you thought of her…as a person."

Her brow wrinkled. "It's not like you to ask me something like that."

"No, it's not," he admitted, then sighed. "The truth is, I'm worried about her. I wanted your honest opinion about something, but now I…" He shifted awkwardly. "We don't have to do this."

"I want to," Addison insisted. "I can help you."

He crossed his arms over his chest, stretching the fabric of his leather jacket. She might have noted how muscular he was across his shoulders if he wasn't acting so…odd.

"Let me explain everything from the beginning," he eventually said. "A few months before you found us, one of my men was shot multiple times by Raiders. Haylen stayed by that Knight's side for two days straight fighting to keep him alive, but he was on a slow decline."

His fingers tightened white around his arms. "I decided that his suffering needed to end and ordered Haylen to administer an overdose of painkillers so he could die with dignity. Even though I'm certain she wanted to continue fighting for that Knight's life, she injected him without question."

Addison hung her head and felt the wind pick up the stray pieces of her hair. "Are you asking me if I approve?"

"Of course not," he replied defensively. "I stand by every order I've ever given. That soldier was gravely wounded. Even if by some miracle he happened to live, he would have been paralyzed for life."

"So what are you concerned about?" she asked.

Danse exhaled slowly. "Haylen approached me while I was on watch. She didn't say a word, but I could tell something was wrong. After what felt like an eternity, she collapsed in my arms, crying." He uncrossed his arms and flexed his hands nervously, like he was still uncomfortable about the moment. "I…didn't know what to do, so I just held her for a while. A few minutes later, she stopped, kissed me on the cheek, and said thank you before heading back into the police station."

Danse finally looked at her; his brown eyes were even darker under the lamplight. "Right then it hit me—maybe I had pushed her too hard. I had ordered her to ignore her instincts. To do something her medical training told her was wrong. That's why I'm worried about her, and everyone under my command for that matter."

Addison turned so she was facing him with her hip against the hard metal rail of the ship. She was impressed that Danse was sensitive enough to not turn Haylen away as she cried. Perhaps she was jealous too—she'd cried so much since leaving the Vault, felt so much pain, and she'd never gotten to curl up against his broad chest and find comfort. Would he even do the same thing if _she_ sought him out for that?

"This isn't about Haylen, Danse. It's about you."

"Perhaps," he admitted after he pursed his lips. "Four soldiers, over half my team, are gone. Each one of them died because of decisions I made. I understand the risks that come with the job, we all do…"

He ran his hand through his hair and then let it flop to his side. "But how can anyone have confidence in me anymore? Hell, how can I have confidence in _myself_?"

Addison put her hand on his shoulder, his body immediately rigid again. "Danse, you are fantastic at your job. Everyone in the Brotherhood respects you, looks up to you—Maxson trusts you more than anyone."

"And what if I'm not worthy of any of that?" he asked bitterly.

"You are," she insisted. "You're brave, smart, passionate—everything a good Brotherhood soldier is supposed to be." She dropped her arm. "If it makes you feel better, _I_ believe in you."

Danse nodded. "Thank you," he said, then he gave a quiet snort. "You know, I signed up to be your sponsor so I could teach you everything I know, but it looks like I'm the one who needed a lesson." He put both hands on the railing. "All joking aside-,"

"Wait— _that_ was your idea of a joke?" she interrupted with a short laugh.

Danse looked over at her. "Well, I _tried_ ," he said indignantly. "Just—let me finish. I wanted to say I appreciate you taking the time to have this discussion with me with all the other problems you're facing."

"Always," she replied, then she grinned and playfully bumped shoulders with him. "Does this mean you'll be there to hold _me_ if I ever needed it?"

Danse's neck snapped around so their eyes met. He looked confused and sad, honestly, until she could hardly see his expression in the shadows as he withdrew.

"I-I hardly think that would be appropriate, soldier," he said. "I don't want my moment with Haylen to give you the wrong idea. We're strictly friends."

Addison straightened from the railing. She was a little taken aback at how disappointed she was. Embarrassed, too. "Oh. I-,"

Danse stepped closer, but only to hold up his hand and interrupt her. His prominent brow was drawn in despair. "Don't," he said. " _Please_. You can't say anything. When you…when you say things, I…"

He made an exasperated sound as he stepped away again. "I'm sorry, Howard," he said.

Addison did not say anything, like he asked, and watched his tall shadow disappear up the metal steps and across the ship. He slipped through the door to the Command Deck without looking back.

She brought her hands to her arms to warm herself in the cold night air—she could hold herself, pathetically, if Danse wouldn't. She was sure her face reflected her utter confusion about what Danse had done, and eventually a heavy sigh left her.

What had happened between his gift in Sanctuary and now to make him act this way? Had he found out about her other alliances? Or since they were on the Prydwen, was he worried that someone else would see them together?

Apparently, it was foolish to think that anything had changed in their relationship. Danse had expressed concern about Haylen—maybe it should have been clear all along that _she_ was who he really cared about, and that Addison was still just a soldier.

Addison should have known better than to throw herself out there. Nate had been her only serious boyfriend before the war. Now that he was gone, it was clear she should still be alone, even as she tried to move on from the sorrow his death caused her.

Addison sighed again and pushed both her hands through her hair. She wanted to demand an explanation from Danse, but he wouldn't want that. He hated emotional conversations. And emotional commitments obviously.

She was perhaps the most concerned about all this because she had been sticking around the Brotherhood for Danse, despite her moral dilemmas with their— _his_ —methods.

If Danse was only her sponsor, and she just his soldier he'd used to get into the Institute, what was the point of staying?

Danse was not often sick to his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been ill at all—whenever he felt bad, he always pushed through his pain. Even when it was emotional pain like when he'd lost Cutler.

Danse was nauseous now after his conversation with Addison— _Howard_. God, all he had wanted was to make things easier for them. To maintain the sense of decorum required by his station.

But nothing was easier now—it was terrible. Looking into Howard's eyes and seeing her sadness, her embarrassment, it _hurt_. All he wanted was to hold her and respond to those advances, but that was the entire goddamn problem. He was not supposed to feel that way about Howard; such things were not allowed.

Danse sat in his quarters with his face buried in his hands for the rest of the night. He _hated_ what he did, even as the Paladin in him told him it was right to distance himself from her.

He did not know how he was supposed to follow-up with Howard. Were they ever going to speak again as friends? She was certainly a gracious person, but he was a fool. He'd stammer around her, probably, like an idiot, pining worse than before.

In the morning, Danse went to Ingram's work bay to make some changes to his armor, as a reminder that his focus should be on his _job_ and nothing else.

When he stood from his crouching position to put some tools on the table beside him, Howard was standing there. He ignored her red hair, and the freckles on her nose, and how neatly pressed and clean her clothes were despite where they lived.

He stepped back. "Howard, I—is everything okay?"

She nodded. "I just wanted to let you know that I'll be leaving the Prydwen this afternoon."

Danse gently placed his tools beside him, trying to determine what sort of reaction was appropriate. He didn't know how to feel—if she was leaving, had she really gotten the message he was trying to send about remaining professional? He wanted to be happy about that, but instead he was only crushed.

"I see," he said. "Are you assisting with anything Brotherhood related?"

"I was going to help Ingram find some materials for refurbishing Liberty Prime," she said, but then she shrugged. "I suppose I'm also due some…personal time."

"Understandable," he said. "I'll see you upon your return. Be safe."

Danse shuffled back further towards his armor, hoping she would make a hasty departure so he would not blurt out something stupid. Something he really wanted.

Instead, she stayed put and cleared her throat. "I also wanted to apologize about what happened last night," she said—calmly, like she'd practiced it a thousand times. Or maybe she didn't need to practice at all, and just always knew exactly what to say and how to sound. "I certainly wasn't trying to— _suggest_ anything or…" She sighed. "I guess I mean to say that I was only kidding when I said that. About—well, you know. It was inappropriate, and I'm sorry."

"It's nothing, Howard," he said quickly, even though it was quite possibly _everything_ in his mind at the moment. "We can pretend it never happened."

"Right," she said, sounding disappointed. "I only wanted to clear the air."

"Consider it forgotten, soldier."

Addison looked away from him, a disbelieving exhale escaping her lips before she pursed them tightly. They were drawn in a smile, almost. Like she felt sorry for him.

She turned for the corridor leading outside and raised her hand in a weak wave. "I'll see you later," she said. "Paladin."

Danse just faced his armor in response, no further words leaving him because of how much it hurt to only be a _Paladin_ to her again. Not Danse, who liked tiny cakes or comforted her, just a superior officer who was nothing more than a figurehead to Brotherhood ideals.

Of course, it was likely how _she_ also felt when he insisted on calling her soldier. Just a label everyone had that did not distinguish her from anyone else he'd sponsored over the years, no matter how different she was, and no matter how brightly the memory of her had been branded into his subconscious.

In the end, Danse knew it was better that he stop things as they were, as opposed to letting his emotions stray further from his control. That was not the kind of life he had pledged himself to when he became a Paladin.

There was the Brotherhood and then there was everything else. Nothing in between.

After Addison left the Prydwen—feeling odd without Danse at her side—she returned to the Institute. If Danse was going to treat her as nothing more than a soldier, then she would return to her _real_ family. Her son.

Except all that was left of Addison's family was a man older than her, who treated her more like an interesting experiment than a mother. Shaun had the cold, calculating demeanor of her father—bereft of any moral code. All he cared about was progress in the name of science, even though it cost him his own father.

As much as Addison felt uncomfortable on the Prywden now that Danse had distanced himself from her, she was even _less_ at home in the Institute. She tried hard to keep her clothes clean and free of wrinkles, but in the Wasteland that was close to impossible. There was always dirt, blood, and grease on her by the end of the day. And that was if she was lucky.

At the Institute, everything was clean. White. Sterile. She stuck out like a sore thumb, and not just because of her red hair. Everyone knew who she was, and while some scientists were hospitable to her, others were weary of her presence. Most of them were not used to outsiders, especially ones brought into the fold so quickly.

Addison found Shaun in his spacious quarters, sitting at his terminal. She stopped at the top of the stairs and watched him for a few moments, but saw nothing of Nate in him. She just saw herself—sitting up painstakingly straight in his chair like she was taught, face stoic. A bright scientist concentrating too much on his work. Only his eyes reminded her of Nate.

"Shaun," Addison said, and she smiled at him when he lifted his head. "Hi, son."

She crossed the room to him and touched his shoulder, squeezing warmly because that's how she was _supposed_ to greet her son, even if it didn't feel right.

Shaun looked at her hand, blinking before he shifted in his chair. "Oh. Yes, hello, mother. Thank you for coming by."

"It's good to see you," she said.

"And you as well," Shaun replied. "I asked you here because I wondered if you'd be willing to help me again."

"Anything," she said as she circled him to lean against his desk.

He swiveled to face her. "What would you do if something was stolen from you?"

Addison's brow wrinkled. "I would…try to get it back? Nicely?"

He smiled slightly at her response, but said nothing about it. "The group that calls themselves the 'Railroad' has acquired several synths from the Institute, synths that had gone missing in recent months." His nose scrunched in disgust. "They no doubt mean to 'free' them, in their belief that they are somehow sentient beings."

Addison crossed her arms—she felt even more uncomfortable now. Shaun's opinions were not ones that she held. In fact, she felt the complete opposite.

"You spend the most time around synths out of anyone. You…" She looked down. "Truly think they're only tools?"

"Synths are not _human_ , mother," he said. "They are not like you and me. I know the science is impressive, but it's just not the same." He waved his hand dismissively. "You've been in contact with the Railroad, so you're no doubt aware of their misguided beliefs."

"They're trying to do what they think is right," she said.

Shaun frowned. "You dealt with Libertalia. That's the result of their selfish, short-sighted plan."

Addison said nothing. She knew when she first had a son all those years ago that she may argue with him at times, but more-so when he was a _teen_. Not when he was in his 60's, and she hardly 30.

"Usually this group is a minor nuisance, but lately they have become emboldened." He sighed. "I'm afraid we've reached a point where a response is necessary. We have learned the location of these synths and need to re-acquire them before the Railroad can hide them."

A feeling of terror overcame Addison because of what Shaun was asking for. He wanted her to _directly_ oppose the Railroad. Before this point, she'd been working with all three groups concurrently. Things they wouldn't approve of, but that didn't technically hurt them. What Shaun wanted was…very different.

"Where are they?" she asked.

"The stolen synths are in a small settlement in the Bunker Hill monument," Shaun explained. "It's important we act on this soon, before the Railroad has any indication we've tracked them."

Addison lowered her arms. What was she supposed to say to him? It was her _son_ , yet what he wanted was so opposed to everything she believed. She tried to suppress her heavy sigh.

"Alright, son," she said. "I'll go as soon as I can."

Shaun smiled slightly and stood. Taller than her, of course. Because he was fully grown.

"A Courser will be waiting for you when you arrive," Shaun said. "You'll have support should you need it, but we want to keep this small."

Addison reached out and squeezed his arm again. She wanted to hug him, but that never felt quite right, and it would be even worse now that she was a liar. She did not know what she was going to do at Bunker Hill, but those synths were not going back to the Institute. Nor were they going to be killed.

Still, Addison didn't want to be torn from her son. So he just couldn't find out about her real plans.

Addison did not return to the Prydwen—she couldn't. She knew that if Maxson caught wind of the hidden synths, he'd want to exterminate them, not save them. Wipe them from the face of the Earth because they were abominations.

She went to the Railroad instead, though she didn't know if it was worth it. Head-on, the Railroad could not defeat the Institute's superior technology. But if the synths were covertly ferreted away from the Institute's reach, Shaun would suspect something. Suspect _her_. There was no easy answer to her problem.

Shaun would cast her out if he discovered her true allegiance; he did not seem attached to her, even if she was his mother. Her passage to the Institute would be revoked, and her son would be lost forever. Again.

Desdemona was at the Railroad HQ, as usual. Addison arrived in the underground bunker, but hesitated talking to her. She caught up with the others—Deacon, Glory—trying to bide time for herself.

Addison eventually had to approach her, heart racing in her chest. She let out a defeated breath and stopped beside her.

"Dez."

Desdemona looked up, not smiling. "Good to see you, agent. What do you need?"

Addison cleared her throat, but didn't speak right away. She was usually one for pleasantries, but this did not seem like the right time for them.

"The Institute knows about Bunker Hill. They're planning to recapture the synths there."

Desdemona straightened with her brows drawn sharply together. "What?"

"You have synths there, don't you?" Addison asked. "The Institute knows. Wants them back."

She clenched her hand into a fist and turned away. "God," she spat. "The timing couldn't be worse. The Old Man's been sitting on those four synths. There's nowhere else safe we can put them."

"I thought you should know," Addison said. "I'm not sure what we should do."

"Maintaining your cover at the Institute is vital, but this…" She put her hands on her hips. "The sacrifice is too great. We'd lose four synths, Stockton, some of our best agents, and the inevitable civilian casualties." She threw her arm out sharply. "No, not this time."

Addison leaned closer. "What are you saying?" she asked. "You want to move the synths?" She shook her head. "Shaun will suspect I tipped you off."

"That's a risk we're going to have to take," Desdemona said. "If you're the only one that makes it out alive, no one will contradict your story."

Addison made an exasperated sound. "That's not what I want. I don't think anyone on either side needs to die."

She frowned. "Anyone ever told you that you're too idealistic?"

"Many times," she muttered. "But you have to acknowledge that the Institute has a tremendous amount of resources at its disposal. More firepower." She gestured around the small underground base. "Are you sure your agents at the monument will be able to handle a direct attack? Even if you know about it in advance?"

Desdemona crossed her arms. "It's…certainly not what we train for," she admitted. "We try to avoid being tracked by the Institute at all. We're a small outfit."

"You can't send more agents," Addison said. "My cover will be blown for sure. I…I can't lose my son again."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Howard, but I'm not going to risk these synths so you can maintain this ridiculous guise. You have to pick a side eventually."

Her breathing stopped—panic clenched her throat, and she shifted. "Dez, wait, I could—there _has_ to be another way," she insisted. "If the agents at Bunker Hill can't take on the Institute alone, then…" She leaned forward with her hand outstretched. Another one of her stupid ideas.

"You'll need reinforcements. The kind that will distract the Institute."

"Did you have something in mind?" Desdemona asked.

Addison rubbed the back of her neck. "What if I told the Brotherhood?"

Her stern expression did not change. "You can't be serious."

"Just—hear me out," she pleaded. "Your agents can't protect the synths at Bunker Hill from a direct Institute attack. That's just not what you're designed for. But if the Brotherhood sends in their troops, they'll attack the Institute right away. They'll be so busy fighting each other that maybe we can get your synths out alive." She ran her hand through her hair. "Plus, Shaun might not suspect me if the mission becomes that chaotic."

Desdemona scowled. "You want a bloodier fight just so you don't have to choose between us?"

"No, this is a good plan," she said. "I'm not-,"

Desdemona threw up her hand. "I don't get it, Howard," she snapped. "What the hell you're doing. I know you help us because of your moral beliefs about synths. You help the Institute because of your son." She gave a deeper frown. "Why do you feel like you need to stick around the Brotherhood too?"

Addison sighed. "They helped me when-,"

"You said that before, and I didn't believe it then," Desdemona interrupted with an impatient wave of her hand. "Something is keeping you there. Or some _one_ , I suppose."

Danse. Danse was some _one_ who kept her there.

"Can we both agree to my plan so I can go?" Addison asked, rather than respond to her comment.

Desdemona leaned against her cluttered desk. "I can't stop you from informing the Brotherhood," she said with a scowl. "And I'm not about to cut off the first undercover agent we've had in the Institute." She looked over, eyes hard, more threatening than anything Addison was capable of. "But just so you know, if this plan of yours backfires and I lose those synths, there will be consequences."

"There will be consequences no matter what," Addison admitted. She hated that all Desdemona's points were perfectly valid. She _was_ asking for a bloodier conflict just so she wouldn't have to choose sides or lose her son. Asking for something more violent because she didn't want to face Danse, either.

"I get it," Desdemona replied, words dripping with disdain. "Keep me updated."

"Just keep your agents inside the monument with the synths," Addison said. "The Institute and the Brotherhood will occupy one another, and I'll come in. We'll find a way out."

Desdemona walked around her desk—she looked annoyed, and Addison feared she might burn bridges with all _three_ factions as she tried to juggle them.

"This might blow up in your face," she remarked. "You'll lose your son, whatever meathead you're attached to in the Brotherhood."

"Dez-,"

She flopped down in her chair. "I have a lot of things I want to say to you, but I won't. You're making some serious mistakes, and you'll realize that eventually. Trying to help the Institute. Getting emotionally invested in some Brotherhood solider who I _promise_ wouldn't give you a second look if he was ordered not to."

Addison clenched her fist, but chose not to be angry. Desdemona was right, probably. Definitely. The more she lied, the deeper hole she dug herself. A kind of trouble that would hurt her badly—or worse, hurt someone she cared about.

Addison knew that her plan for Bunker Hill was a bit insane. As usual. She could just omit the Brotherhood from the equation completely, and they would never be the wiser that synths were being hidden away in the city. But they were also the only force Addison could think of that could fairly take on the Institute in a direct fight. Sure, the Minutemen had some impressive artillery thanks to her work, but they had been in shambles just months ago.

The Railroad operated as stealth agents, not a military force. Glory had a mini-gun that would rival any single Brotherhood soldier, yet that was the end of their firepower. If the Institute wanted to be inside Bunker Hill, they would be, and mow through the Railroad agents in their way.

The synths could have been moved, but that was a higher risk for everyone—there was nowhere safe to put them, and when Addison reported her failure to Shaun, he'd certainly suspect her of wrongdoing. Losing him was not an option yet.

When Addison hopped out of her Vertibird onto the deck of the Prydwen, she instinctively looked for Danse. He was harder to find because almost everyone there wore power armor, but even then, she did not think she wanted to see him.

Luckily, the command deck was the first inner-room of the ship, so she found Maxson immediately, without having to search the bowels of the Prydwen.

A group of officers was filing out of the room just as she slipped in. Maxson saw her, but did not react—the same stern frown remained on his face. Probably some overcompensation for his young age.

"I have something to report," she said.

He put his hands behind his back. "And you decided to come to me rather than Paladin Danse?"

"I thought it was important enough that I come straight to you," she explained, knowing her lie was persuasive, even as her insides squirmed.

"What is it then?" he asked.

"The Institute is attempting to recover escaped synths at Bunker Hill," she said. "Very, very soon."

Maxson paused and studied her, his brow drawn in. "How did you obtain this information?" he asked wearily. 'Our reconnaissance hasn't reported anything of the sort."

"I thought _I_ was your Institute reconnaissance," she replied.

He scoffed. "You're the only one that's been able to breach the Institute, but you're hardly the only source of information we have," he said. "We've been running around the clock Vertibird patrols, and we even have squads on the ground trying to pick up anything we can."

Maxson stepped closer, eyes glinting and narrowed. Addison hated herself for it, but she instinctively stepped back. Hunkered away like a coward.

"I will repeat myself," he began impatiently. "How is it that _you_ are the only one with this information?"

Her lips thinned, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "You'll just have to trust me."

"Is that your only answer?" he snapped. "You think that's good enough?"

"If you've got a problem with my information, I'll spare you the details," she said.

Maxson's jaw clenched under his stubble before he relented, though that wasn't clear in his expression. "You've given me no reason to distrust you, but rest assured this mode of information will not always be acceptable, Knight."

"It shouldn't matter where this came from," Addison said. "It should matter what you're going to do about it."

Maxson turned to his slanted windows. "Your report provides us with a golden opportunity to state our intentions to the Institute. I'll mobilize as many men as we can manage."

He turned his head to look at her over his bulky coat, and gave an order that she dreaded. "Exterminate the synths at Bunker Hill and whoever the Institute sent to retrieve them."

"Yes, sir," she said, though she did not intend to do _either_ of those things. "We will arrive at Bunker Hill tomorrow and get it done."

"Good," he said. "You're dismissed."

Addison saluted to him, clumsily as usual, before she turned on her heel and headed out of the room. Just as she crossed the threshold, she heard familiar footsteps—loud ones, that shook the metal under her feet.

"Howard?"

Addison turned, spotted Danse, and internally cringed. It was her luck to run into him on this massive metal ship.

"Paladin Danse."

He flinched at the invocation of his title, but stepped forward. "I did not realize you had returned."

"Not for long," she said. "I only needed to report something to Maxson."

Danse furrowed his brow. "The chain of command goes to me first, as your sponsor."

Addison nodded. "I understand, but it was important. The Institute is planning on recapturing some synths at Bunker Hill."

"Did Shaun tell you this?" Danse asked.

"It doesn't matter," she said evasively, gutted of her persuasive charm around him, apparently. "The Brotherhood needed to know."

"I agree," he replied. "I commend you for coming forward. When do we depart?"

Addison wanted to shrink to half her size as she contemplated her response. "I am leaving now, but I think…" She weakly gestured between them. "You would be better served staying here. I'm sure Maxson wants you to lead the charge. It won't be safe for me on the ground in battle. I should use my sniper rifle from a rooftop."

Danse looked disappointed, but nodded. "You're right. Your safety is the most-," He stopped and cleared his throat. "I mean, you would be a better asset there. I will go speak with Maxson. Be careful."

"You be careful, too," Addison said, even though Danse was already turning from her to walk away. "The Institute…they have powerful technology."

He paused, facing the hallway. "I guess you would know."

Danse clopped out of sight before she could reply—she didn't have any words in mind anyway. Her lips just parted in surprise, and a sigh left her.

She should have been happy that Danse was not insisting that they stick together in the battle. If he followed her and witnessed any part of her plan, he'd disown her. Yet somehow she was still disappointed that he wouldn't be hovering just behind her like always, a protector and a nuisance all at once.

She'd have to take on this mission alone—and probably watch it backfire alone too.

Things moved quickly after Addison disclosed to the Brotherhood the location of the escaped synths. Maxson was nothing if not an aggressive leader—he had men on the ground in what seemed like minutes, scoping out the area and planning their attack for the next day.

Addison repeated her desire to remain on the perimeter as a sniper as much as she could. She wanted people to expect her to be away from the battlefield, so they wouldn't look for her. Even Danse. Maybe _especially_ Danse. Despite how cold he'd been on the Prydwen, she wanted to think he still cared for her, at least in his capacity as her sponsor.

She asked Piper to accompany her during the battle, but did not divulge her entire plan. All the secrecy made her uneasy—each time she lied, keeping the truth carefully bottled up inside her, she felt as if she might burst. _No one_ was fully aware of how deeply involved she'd become with all three organization. No one understood the danger she was in.

It would all come crashing down during this battle—it was almost a guarantee. Shaun would abandon her, and she'd never return to the Institute again. Danse would—well, she didn't know _what_ Danse would do. He'd clearly been hurt in his life, like when Cutler died. But her…betrayal, in his eyes at least, might just be the worst crime of all.

Those thoughts swirled in Addison's mind the night before the battle—a nauseating eddy that kept her from getting any sleep. She had tried to keep everyone she cared for in her life, and that would only make her lose them.

The Brotherhood soldiers moved in around Bunker Hill at sunrise. It was quiet at first, and Addison watched from her spot on the adjacent roof as the unit of men marched through the alleys, the metal of their armor dim in the sunlight.

Piper was beside her, resting on her elbows and peering over into the street. She lifted her head when Addison stood.

"What are you doing, Blue?" she hissed.

"Change of plans," she said. "We need to go down there."

Addison didn't want for Piper to protest—there was very little time for her to meet with the Courser Shaun had sent to meet her. If she did not find him, she would be under immediate suspicion.

"What?" Piper began incredulously. "You—Blue!" She gave a small huff and scurried after Addison as she climbed down the fire escape on the side of the building.

"I thought we were supposed to stay on the _roof_."

Addison hopped down to the ground, her rifle slung across her chest. "Like I said—change of plans."

It was still mostly dark as the two of them snaked through the alleys around the settlement. Addison knew where the Brotherhood soldiers were—she'd been paying attention—so she carefully maneuvered around them to the point where she had agreed to meet X4.

Addison spotted him in the shadows of a small alcove, face stoic, like all Coursers. Piper jolted to a stop behind her.

"Is that a Courser?" she whispered urgently, raising her pistol.

Addison whirled around and raised her hand. "Wait—don't shoot. He's here to see us."

" _Us_?" Piper said. "I thought _we_ were…" She gestured back up to the roof and opened her mouth to speak, but Addison turned away. She knew how crazy it looked—convening with the Brotherhood hours before battle and then meeting with a _Courser_. There was no logical explanation.

The Courser's expression did not change as they approached.

"I've been waiting for you," he said.

Addison's heart was racing in her chest, but she attempted a polite smile anyway. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

X4 didn't sound irritated. His icy gaze remained level and unblinking. "Just try and keep up from now on."

"I'll try," she assured him. "Now what's the situation?"

Her feigned ignorance actually wrested a small frown from him. "I assume you've been briefed," he said, then gestured towards the direction of Bunker Hill. "Our targets are inside: four synths under Railroad protection. The majority of the settlement is uninvolved and are expected to run for cover."

Addison had one hand around her rifle and tightened her grip. She could not let X4 reach his targets, nor could she let him return to the Institute if he suspected her role in helping the synths escape. It had not been her first instinct, but eventually she realized that killing X4 was quite possibly the only way to secure her safety with the Institute.

That was not the conclusion she wanted to come to. Killing people to keep up this rouse of hers was wrong, even if it was a Courser. She was fighting this hard against the Brotherhood and the Institute because she believed synths were people who deserved to be treated with respect. Killing a synth to reach that goal didn't exactly seem laudable.

X4 dropped his hand just as the loud roar of an engine broke through the eerie morning silence. A Vertibird crested the roof over of them, rotors whirring furiously as it headed straight for the monument.

"The situation appears to have…escalated," X4 said. "A covert approach is likely impossible."

Gunshots rang out from the Vertibird's machine gun, raining down on the street beside them and sending dust flying everywhere. Addison instinctively crouched down, while X4 pulled out his Institute rifle.

"The mission parameters have changed," he said, over the din of the bullets. "We go in shooting."

He brushed past her before she could reply, reaching into the pocket of his black jacket. He peered up into the sky before looking down at his hand.

"Requesting backup relay now."

Addison sucked in a panicked breath. _Backup_ was not a part of her plan. She was hoping to incapacitate him or dart away in the chaos of the battle. If he called _more_ synths, they might get to the Railroad first. Or worse, there would be more witnesses to her betrayal. Shaun had said he wanted to send a small team—she could manage that. Not more re-enforcements.

More synths also meant more fighting with the Brotherhood, and if Danse was hurt because the battle was even _bloodier_ ….she'd never forgive herself.

Without thinking—which perhaps happened too often lately—Addison yanked her pistol from her waist. X4 had fished out a synth relay grenade, and just as he raised his arm, Addison tried to slam the butt of her gun hard into his skull.

She clipped the side of his head, making him stagger, but did not have the strength to knock a _Courser_ completely unconscious. As she should have known.

Panic shot through her when X4 spun around, rifle raised. He cocked his head—not angry, just processing, the side of his temple red and scratched.

"You wish to fight me?" he asked, finger now clearly hovering over the trigger of his gun while Addison, like an _idiot_ , clenched hers by the middle with the barrel facing down.

"No, I-,"

X4 braced his body, about to fire, but before he could Piper had raised her own gun, emptying her entire clip with a deafening sound. The shots hit him in his chest and head, making him jerk violently. He crumpled to the ground, and Addison lurched forward with a gasp.

"Piper! No-,"

Piper gave her an exasperated look. "He was about to _shoot you_ ," she began, voice more strained than usual. "God, what were you _thinking_? Why the hell did you attack him?"

"I—I wanted to incapacitate him," Addison replied. "Not kill him."

"Seeing as you've never _actually_ knocked someone unconscious before, you might have wanted to clear it with me first," Piper pointed out with an annoyed slash in her brow. "Blue, whatever the hell your plan is, it's _insane_."

Addison stepped over X4's body and then knelt down to search his coat and belt. He had a shock baton, some synth relay grenades—all useful to her. She straightened and tried to take a calming breath. Even if she wanted to, she probably couldn't carry her gun correctly—her hands were sweating too much. She swallowed roughly.

"If you want to leave, you can," Addison said.

Piper shook her head. "You know I'm coming with you, but…but let's just be _smart_ about this, okay? I thought you were supposed to be a genius."

Addison ignored her because that was a comment she'd heard her entire _life_ before the Vault. She was thankful for the distraction of another Vertibird flying over them, rumbling the ground under their feet. She peered around the corner from outside the alley.

"We need to get going. If the Brotherhood breaches the monument, they'll get to the synths first."

Piper nodded curtly, and together they jogged back out onto the main road. The fighting had escalated around them—the small Institute unit had clashed with the Brotherhood forces. Real bullets and flashes of blue crossed in the middle of the street, the succinct bursts of sound loud even over the Vertibird landing at the north end of the monument.

Addison hovered close to the building nearby for cover. She peered back at Piper. "We'll need to make a run for it. The front door is barricaded, but I know another way in. We'll save time because I know exactly where the synths are."

Piper only nodded. Addison faced the street again and exhaled sharply in the morning air—for courage—before she burst out onto the street. She stayed low to the ground, feet crunching the gravel and broken glass from the battle. Bullets and bursts from laser rifles whizzed over their heads, but none of the weapons were aimed at _them_.

Each Brotherhood soldier, each Institute synth—they all looked at her and saw an _ally_. Some of the Brotherhood soldiers perhaps even saw a friend. And instead of fighting beside them, she betrayed each, forcing them fight one another and risk their lives because she had and always would be a coward.

To the Railroad's credit, Bunker Hill was well-fortified. There were turrets, a chain-link fence surrounding the perimeter, and plenty of other traps to catch unsuspecting hostiles. The front door of the settlement was locked down tight, but Addison knew another way to slip inside.

She led Piper along the fence, trying to keep a low profile—if Danse spotted her, he would follow her, and see what she was doing. How she was betraying everything he held dear.

There was a small hatch behind a desk in the settlement that led to the utility basement. Addison slipped inside and held the door open so Piper could take it and slide down herself. The sharp smell of gunpower floated up from other levels, and Addison hurried forward through the cramped hallway towards the sounds of fighting.

She heard the familiar clack of Brotherhood boots against metal as the basement opened up to a wider room in front of her, with turrets firing indiscriminately at Brotherhood soldiers and Institute synths. Addison and Piper were above them all on the catwalk.

Danse was there among the soldiers. He was in his armor, including his helmet, but she knew it was him from the way he held his rifle and threw himself into battle with so little regard for his own life. He was leading the team—the closest to the escaped synths because this was what he was good at.

"Blue?" she heard Piper whisper beside her.

Addison shook her head sharply and waved her along. Danse couldn't spot her—it would spell defeat for her chances of helping the Railroad.

They disappeared from that room into a larger network of stairs. The basement was massive, and they climbed down—following the pipes, and moving further and further away from the fighting. She was right that the Brotherhood and the Institute would distract one another from their goals. So absorbed in their own hatred—their insistence at killing one another even upon a glance—that they couldn't focus on their main objective.

The closer they were to the escaped synths, the more Railroad operatives appeared. They attended to turrets and kept vigilant watch, but there weren't many of them.

Just before the final room deep inside the basement—the air cold and damp around them—she was stopped by a Railroad operative.

"Carrot-top, we've got Brotherhood and the Institute coming in hot," he said—the operative's name was Old Man, but that's all Addison knew about him.

Addison stopped. Her blood was pounding loud in her ears, so loud she could hardly think. "Des said there's a back way. For you all to escape."

"Escape to _where_?" he asked incredulously. "A surface infested with the Railroad _and_ the Institute?"

"The Institute's unit was small," she said. "They were not given the chance to call for reinforcements. They're gone." _Dead_ , she meant, but she didn't want to admit that.

"Yeah?" he replied acridly. "And what about the Brotherhood? They came here to _kill_ the synths."

Addison walked past him to the door leading to the escaped synths. "All you have to do is slip past them. I know how they organized their assault. If they know we're here, they'll be hitting the basement with everything they've got. Leave soon, and they'll just think you're escaping settlers."

She wrapped her fingers around the handle of the door and yanked it open. Panicked gasps followed, probably from the synths.

"I'll stay behind," she said. "I'll…be able to distract the Brotherhood long enough to let you escape. Camouflage yourself."

Piper followed her with a furrowed brow. "Blue-,"

Addison jogged down the stairs—four sets of terrified eyes followed her as she went. Men and women of all different shapes and sizes, who looked just as human as her. And who experienced the same kind of fear.

"Please, you have to help us," one begged.

Addison stopped and looked around. The room was cramped and cluttered by both debris and living essentials. "I will," she said. "I won't let the Brotherhood hurt you."

Two or three Railroad agents were guarding the synths, and she gestured to them. "Open the passage. You're leaving now. The way is clear."

They all nodded and went to gather their things. Addison turned to Piper.

"I think you should lead them," she said. "Help them get out safely."

"What are you going to do?" she asked. "You can't just stay here. They'll suspect you allowed the synths to go free."

Addison heard the metal walkway outside the room rattling, followed by more gunshots. Panic gripped her lungs, pushing the air out in a shaky breath. "I know," she replied. "That's why I need your help."

Piper shifted on her feet. "Kind of thought I was _already_ helping."

Addison shook her head and reached back on her belt. "I need one more favor." She held out an Institute shock baton. "I want you to use this on me."

Piper raised her hand to her temple, lifting up the tip of her cap. "You want me to _what_?"

"I need to be injured," Addison explained. "It needs to look like I was fighting _against_ the Institute."

Piper let her hand flop to her side. "Why? So you can continue this ridiculous guise? Blue-,"

Addison looked back at the door—the footsteps and sounds of gunfire were louder. "Piper, I know. I _know_ this is insane, a-and I never wanted it to be this way." She rubbed her brow. "But we don't have time right now to figure this out, and I need you to do this for me."

Piper studied her, eyes narrowed slightly, and Addison tried not to look too impatient, despite the fact that she wanted to jump out of her own skin.

Piper eventually snatched the baton from her with a frown. "You're insane, your _plans_ are insane—God, you're going to get yourself killed."

"I appreciate that you're willing to do this," she said. "Just…hurry. And leave as soon as you're done."

Piper flipped on the shock baton, holding it between them as it hummed. Addison resisted the urge that raced through her to step back and knock the baton away. Instead, she clenched her jaw and planted herself on the ground.

"I'm sorry, Addison," she said, regret evident on her face even as she thrust the baton forward.

An arc of electricity shot from the baton and then connected with Addison's chest. The pain was white hot and rolled through her in painful prickles all the way to her toes.

Her back hit the wall and rattled the pipes above her. She slid to the floor, her vision blurred. There were sounds around her—voices, closer gunshots. She saw the end of Piper's red coat from the edges of her vision before she blacked out.

The basement of the monument smelled like grease and smoke—there was blood, too, but not like Danse was used to in other battles. The bodies littering the ground were machines, spewing synthetic liquids and sending sparks everywhere. Those were the casualties of this skirmish, and Danse was not remorseful for it.

The Brotherhood had made a mighty effort at Bunker Hill and bulldozed the small team sent from the Institute. Danse had not seen any Railroad agents as he fought on the perimeter, even though they were supposed to be harboring the synths. He assumed they were deeper inside the monument, though as he made his way through, he only encountered more synths.

They managed to neutralize the Institute force in the main room of the basement with no casualties and very few injuries. Danse did not stop to celebrate—he merely followed the staircase down, but still found no Railroad operatives. He had to take out some turrets after a few more floors—otherwise it was silent. And not in a good way.

Danse walked through another door in the dank, narrow hallway, sweeping his gun left and right to check for hostiles. He descended a set of stairs bordered on either side by pipes. There was a door at the bottom that was well-barricaded. He had to push hard with his armor to get through.

Inside was a dimly lit, mostly empty room. There had been people living there at one time—he spotted small beds, cans of food, and other necessities. No one was with him now.

Danse made a frustrated sound because that meant the synths had somehow _escaped_. He walked further into the room, hoping he would find their bodies, but instead he only saw a human crumpled against the wall.

He thought for a moment the person's hair was red from blood—but no, that was its natural color.

" _Howard_?" he blurted out, and he dropped his rifle.

His armor was hissing and opening barely fast enough for him to jump out. He winced in pain as his feet hit the floor, but he ignored the ache and rushed forward.

Howard was lying face-down—when he turned her over, her cheeks were coated in dirt, but he saw no blood on her face or neck. Her chest piece had fallen off her shoulders, shirt singed, presumably from an Institute shock baton.

What was she even _doing_ down here? She was supposed to stay on the roof— _safe_ , away from the Institute.

"Damn it, Howard…" he muttered, as he situated her slumped frame on his knees so he could check for other injuries.

Danse shook her shoulder to try and rouse her. His heart was hammering uncomfortably hard in his chest; she could not— _could not_ —be dead. Not when the _only_ thing he had been good for in her life was keeping her safe.

"Howard," he whispered hoarsely. "Howard, please, come on."

Danse pulled her limp body closer to him. "Add-,"

Her eyes flew open and cut him off. She immediately lifted her torso, bracing herself with one hand against his chest. She winced as soon as she moved. Instead of acknowledging him, she craned her neck around to scan the rest of the room.

"T-The—the synths," she croaked.

He gently shushed her. "It's alright, don't worry about that right now."

Howard looked at him, still concerned. "They're gone?"

"Yes," Danse said. "But it's not your fault."

She exhaled slowly, her mouth scrunched up in pain as her chest moved. Danse just sat, letting the warmth from her body seep through to his. She hadn't scrambled up in horror when she gained consciousness and saw the way he held her—it was a good sign that Danse wasn't _supposed_ to care about.

He shook his head. "You were supposed to stay on the roof."

"I know," she said, while she wiggled in his arms to get comfortable. "I—I just wanted to help. I thought…"

He wondered if she noticed how hard his heart was beating. "How did you even get past the others? Past me?"

"I can be pretty sneaky when I'm not walking around in several hundred pounds of metal," she replied. "I thought if I could get in quietly, I might…"

A piece of Howard's hair was hanging over her temple, twisted, red, coated in dirt. He pushed it away, his fingers shaking.

"You have the craziest ideas," he murmured.

"I know," she said softly, as her chin drifted towards his touch.

Danse knew he should move his hand, stop touching her so affectionately. Stop letting his concern wash away all his carefully-honed training and principles. "How badly are you hurt?"

"It was only a shock baton," she muttered, looking down at her shirt. "I wasn't paying attention."

He frowned. "So the Institute got their synths back?"

"I-I don't know," she admitted. "There were so many things going on. I…"

Danse sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter. The point is that _we_ didn't exterminate them."

Howard tried to sit up, but he hesitated because he did not want to let go of her. "Do you think Maxson will be upset?" she asked.

"Yes," Danse replied reluctantly. "But don't worry. I helped organize this mission, and I intend to take full responsibility for the failure. You won't be blamed."

She clenched her hand in his jumpsuit, face twisted in pain. "I don't want you to get in trouble for my mistake. I'm your subordinate, you should be shifting the blame _to_ me, if anything."

Danse swallowed. "You're not just…" He stopped and let his eyes dart away from her. He could feel her fingernails through his jumpsuit—not sharp enough to puncture the material, but the closest she'd probably gotten to touching his skin there.

"You know you're not just my subordinate."

She blinked and said nothing at first—the silence made him want to shrink inward or disappear into his armor.

"That's not how our last conversation ended," she finally remarked. Her fingers loosened their grip on him.

Danse clenched his jaw—it had been such a mistake to treat her that way on the Prydwen and yet _still_ the right thing to do. He could not think about it without cringing.

"I only meant to…" He shifted, though tried to be gentle. "I have to be a model for other soldiers. For the _rules_."

She leaned back against his arm with a contemplative look. He was so close to her he could see the streaks of red in her hair under the harsh basement light. Each strand a little different and shimmering, almost, like looking into a prism.

"No matter what you said, you actually _were_ there to hold me when I needed it."

Howard was so right. He could not resist her—he was a _failure_.

His shoulders fell. "You understand the difficult position I'm in, don't you?"

She didn't move, her lips pursed in a small frown. "I understand, Danse."

He lifted his head to look at her. There was blood matted in her hair, a yellowish bruise across her neck, not to mention the state of her burns. She was hurt, and the minute Danse had seen her in that position, his feelings had been so visceral. Gut-wrenching panic and fear—things he'd never felt for anyone else because he'd never been so afraid of losing someone.

"You're…" Danse let out the breath he'd been holding. "You are the most important person to me, Howard."

She started to smile, the edge of her slender lip curving up, but then her face fell. "If the Brotherhood were a person, I'd be the second most important," she said, her voice slightly hoarse.

"The Brotherhood is my life," he said. Why couldn't she understand that his work had given him everything? Never betrayed him. It was _worth_ doing.

"Maybe you deserve a better life then," she replied, leveling her eyes in his direction in an expression he did not want to call treasonous.

"Howard-,"

The door flew open at the other end of the room, the metal knob crashing into the wall. A Brotherhood soldier appeared, probably followed by his entire unit. Danse resisted his impulse to push Howard off his lap—she would not appreciate that, but it was his instinct at the prospect of being discovered by others.

Instead, Danse tightened his grip on her and helped both of them to their feet. Howard wrapped one arm around her waist with a grimace.

"We should get a Stimpak for you," he said quietly.

"I'll be fine," Howard assured him. "I know you have business to attend to. Go. It's alright."

Danse knew Howard was disappointed in him. She thought he was too steadfastly loyal to the Brotherhood. She had never said that, but he could see those feelings in the pucker of her brow and the small dip in her mouth when she spoke about his obligations. It was…unsettling. Yes, she might have been hurt that he pushed her away on the Prydwen, but she was supposed to be just as loyal as him. She too was supposed to put her duty to the Brotherhood above all else—especially romantic feelings.

Danse didn't want to admit it, but he was beginning to suspect that there were a lot more important things to her than the Brotherhood.

Danse disappeared after he found Addison in the basement of Bunker Hill—he had work to do, and he wasn't going to let himself be distracted, despite how tenderly he'd cared for her or how concerned he'd looked about her. It hurt that his expression of those feelings was erratic at best. Maybe even contrary.

After a field medic tended to her wounds, Addison knew she needed to make her exit. She could not tarry around the Brotherhood when Shaun—who had given her this assignment in the first place—no doubt expected an explanation of why it all went to hell.

She asked a Brotherhood squire to deliver a message to Danse rather than face him herself. She lied and wrote that she was going straight to Sanctuary. She didn't think it would matter—no matter what she wrote, he was going to go to the Prydwen.

Addison was walking away from Bunker Hill, past dead synths, and X4's body hidden somewhere in an alley, evidence of her treachery. Her Pip-Boy chirped at her from her wrist, and she stopped and raised her arm to her face.

The Institute had installed a means of communication onto her Pip-Boy when they'd added the relay for her to teleport. There was a message for her from Shaun—he wanted to meet her on the roof of the ruins of CIT. She was surprised to see that—had Shaun actually left his underground oasis? Was he seeing the surface of the Earth, maybe for the first time?

She knew for certain his teleportation to the Commonwealth meant he was angry, and was eager to discover why she had failed.

Addison reached the roof at the end of the day. It would have taken less time, but she wanted to ensure no one had followed her. The stairs to the roof were hard to climb after her injury, but she pushed through the pain that still thrummed in her chest.

As she shoved open the door to the outside, she was greeted by the same destruction she always saw from high-up.

She spotted Shaun a few feet away, white jacket crisp and bright in the dim light against a backdrop of browns and grays. His eyes were scanning the horizon, but he turned when she approached.

"You know, in all my years I've never set foot outside the Institute," Shaun remarked. "Not once, since the day they brought me here. I'd never had a reason. But now…" He gave a heavy sigh and gestured out. "This just confirms the truth I've always known. The Commonwealth is…dead. There's no future here. The only hope for humanity lies below."

Addison had believed that when she had first emerged from the Vault. Her version of the world was pristine compared to what she saw then—it had drained her hope, her desire to live. She saw no future for herself in that vacant wasteland.

But the Commonwealth _wasn't_ dead. Just because it wasn't flashy, or lush, didn't mean there weren't people here finding small joys in life, or having families, or trying to be happy.

"It wasn't always like this," Addison remarked.

"I can only imagine," he replied. "Standing here, I'm reminded how fortunate I am that I was spared a life in this wasteland." He turned to face her with a solemn look. "I know that to you I was kidnapped from the Vault. In truth, the Institute rescued me. Both of us, really."

Addison stood frozen in silence. She could hardly look at Shaun—could hardly believe that her _son_ was telling her that he was somehow rescued in the same moment his father was murdered. She was angry at herself; she had let her son be ferreted away and brainwashed.

"How did the Institute rescue me?" she asked.

"They kept you alive," he explained. "I was the perfect candidate, an infant with uncorrupted DNA. But if something were to go wrong…if I died…"

"Then what?" she began incredulously. "I was their back-up?"

"The Institute realized a contingency plan was prudent," Shaun insisted. "Another source of pre-war DNA, preferably related to their primary subject."

Her eyes darted back out to the horizon because she couldn't bear to be a part of this conversation much longer. _Subject_. Shaun had called her a subject in an experiment. The same experiment he'd been a part of that he now had the audacity to support.

"Your father could have been a back-up too," she said hoarsely. "But they killed him."

" _Kellogg_ killed him," Shaun replied. "It was an oversight."

He'd said that before, and it didn't make her any less angry the second time. Still, she held those uncomfortable feelings inside because she wasn't going to lose anyone today, especially not her son.

Shaun gestured back to the wasted landscape around them. "I'll admit, when I had you released from Vault 111, I had no expectation you'd survive out there, in all this." He pursed his lips, in disbelief, almost. "To not only do so, but manage to find me—to infiltrate the Institute itself…" He shook his head. "Extraordinary."

Addison furrowed her brow. "You had me released from the Vault?"

Shaun nodded. "Yes, it was my decision," he said. "Certainly it was no longer necessary to keep you suspended. I…well, I suppose I wanted to see what would happen. An experiment, of sorts."

Addison felt sick—like she was back in the world before the war listening to _her_ father speak about science and progress. He cared for nothing other than his work. He believed he was on some noble quest to save humanity with his experiments, just like Shaun was now.

"How long did you know that I was down there?" she asked. "Years? Decades?"

"I was told about you when I came of age," Shaun said.

She swallowed thickly. "And then you let me sit on ice for thirty more years? You knew I was just sitting in the Vault all that time?"

"You couldn't be released," Shaun said. "If your DNA wasn't available as a back-up, the future of the Institute— _humanity_ —would be in jeopardy."

Addison turned to face the landscape below her, pretending to be mesmerized by the destruction, when in reality she was…angry. She had gone to the ends of the Earth to find Shaun, risked _everything_ she had left, and he'd been watching her from his comfortable pedestal at the Institute the whole time. He could have come to her as soon as she was released if she was more than an _experiment_.

She tried to be reasonable. To not blame him so harshly. Yes, Addison was his _mother_ , but what did that as a word mean to him? She was basically some stranger with a meaningful title. There was no emotional bond between them. The Institute had raised him, not her.

Addison looked over her shoulder at Shaun—she did not want to reprimand or face these thorny emotional issues. She came here to defend herself concerning the battle, to keep her good graces with her son.

"I'm sorry about what happened this morning."

Shaun's lips tightened, drawn down in a slight frown. "Would you care to explain what went wrong?"

Addison crossed her arms. "The Brotherhood flew in with an entire unit of men. They…crushed our small team. X4 never even got the chance to call for backup."

Shaun rubbed his temple. "The chances of failing this mission were so _astronomically_ low. Bunker Hill was to cement your place as a valuable asset to the Institute." He sighed and dropped his hand. "It will now only raise suspicions."

"I know this was a disaster," Addison said. "But I can still be an asset. I can still help."

Shaun scrutinized her with Nate's blue eyes. An unfamiliar expression because Nate had never been so suspicious of her. "To see the Brotherhood of Steel involved in this…" He scowled. "They had no way of knowing what was going on."

"Maybe you're not giving them enough credit," Addison remarked.

"Oh, I give those narrow-minded fools plenty of credit," Shaun replied acridly, then he exhaled sharply. "It hardly matters. What's done is done. I will refrain from sharing the outcome with the Directorate for the moment. Things are already in motion that this would only derail."

Addison did not want to know about what Shaun had in motion—more experiments, more things for her to make decisions about stopping? What lengths would she have to be pushed to _finally_ tell the truth to anyone in her life?

"Whatever you need, son," she said.

He faced her. "We can still salvage this," he remarked. "I'd like for you to join me at our next Directorate meeting."

Addison hesitated in her response. She needed to be careful transporting to the Institute too often. She would raise suspicion with the Railroad and the Brotherhood—look like more of an actual member of the Institute rather than a double agent.

"Of course, Shaun," she said. "If you'd like me to be there, I will be."

He gave a polite smile, and then looked back out at the darkening sky. "Thank you, mother," he said. "I've seen enough of this place, I think. I should go."

Addison reached out and touched his arm, a gesture to remind herself that this was her son, even if his arms were older and frailer than hers. "I'll see you soon, Shaun."

He only nodded in reply, then stepped back and looked at his wrist. She heard a familiar buzz around her and felt vibrations under her feet. Small beams of light shot up around Shaun, and then he disappeared in a flash of energy, transported back to his home.

It was silent after that, and Addison was alone on the roof, staring at the spot her son once stood. She'd navigated too easily out of that conversation. Out of accepting blame for what had happened at Bunker Hill.

Shaun clearly trusted her, even if he had no emotional attachment to her. He believed they shared the same ideas about progress because they were family. Apparently he couldn't even entertain the possibility that she was a traitor.

She doubted those conversations would _remain_ easy the deeper she became involved with each faction. Eventually, they would be impossible, and she'd lose everything again.

Danse returned to the Prydwen after he had made sure that Bunker Hill was securely in the Brotherhood's control. After a final sweep, his men found no trace of any living Institute synth or Railroad operative. Their assault had been a victory in the sense that there were few casualties on their side, but it was a disappointment the escaped synths had slipped away.

Danse did not fear Maxson's anger about the mission—he was a reasonable leader, and certainly zealous, but he wasn't cruel. Danse was harder on _himself_ for failing than Maxson would be.

It was dark before Danse found Maxson on the command deck to speak to him. The whole area was shrouded in shadow, only lit by flickering lamps as opposed to the natural light from the large windows.

Danse had left his power armor with Ingram in the workshop, so he approached more quietly than he was used to.

"Elder Maxson, sir."

Maxson had his hands folded behind his back and turned to face him after a few seconds of silence. "Well," he said. "I hope you have a good explanation for what happened at Bunker Hill today."

Danse straightened. "I have no excuse for our failure. We tried to breach the monument as soon as we hit the ground, but there were Institute forces that kept us from reaching the escaped synths in time."

"You and the others have been trained to destroy synths," Maxson said with a frown. " _Quickly_. Their resistance is no excuse."

"I understand," Danse replied. "I take full responsibility for the failure. It won't happen again."

Maxson glared at him with dark eyes—they were almost the same height, and though Maxson's coat certainly created the illusion of size, Danse was taller.

"I expected better from you, Paladin," he said. "This result was nothing short of disaster—the Railroad _knew_ we were coming for them. I expect you to do everything you can to monitor the monument and track down those synths."

Danse nodded once. "I've already sent teams out to find them and stationed a unit at the battle site. If the Railroad returns to the area, we'll spot them."

Maxson turned a shoulder to him as he paced sideways towards a small table. The candle lit there fell across his face as he reached for a glass. His jaw was tense, lips pursed tightly.

"I have another concern."

Danse paused for a moment—it was not like Maxson to be vague. He said what was on his mind always and never beat around the bush. That's why Danse liked him.

"Yes?"

He faced Danse again. "There is still not a _single_ trace in any Brotherhood reconnaissance report about the Institute's attack on Bunker Hill."

"Should we be doing more to infiltrate their ranks?" Danse asked.

"Oh no," Maxson said, shaking his head. "We have them under constant surveillance, which is why I can't figure out _how_ the Railroad was prepared for an assault."

Danse stilled. "What are you implying?"

Maxson paced again in the opposite direction. "I see two possibilities here," he began. "One, the Railroad has some kind of access to the Institute that allowed them to recover intelligence about the attack."

Maxson held out one gloved hand. "Seeing as we have more resources and are far superior to the Railroad, I doubt that's true."

"And the other option?" Danse asked.

Maxson stopped, eyes in a level stare in Danse's direction.

"The person who told _us_ about the Institute attack told the Railroad, too."

Danse tried to keep the dread that consumed him from being apparent in his expression. He should have known something bad like this was coming.

Maxson usually approached Danse with more respect, collaboration—when they were alone, they were _colleagues_. But now, he was only cold and condescending. He thought that Danse had recruited a _traitor_.

Danse clasped his hands behind his back—anything to help maintain his visage of calmness. "Sir, with all due respect, that seems unlikely," he said. "Howard— _Knight_ Howard would not do that."

Maxson stepped closer to him, unconvinced. "Are you sure?" he asked in a low voice.

Danse faced him completely. He was determined to aver suspicion from himself, to _prove_ that Howard was the good, loyal woman he knew she was.

"Are you having doubts about her allegiance?"

"Answer the question, Paladin," Maxson snapped. "I want to know if you think Knight Howard is truly loyal to the Brotherhood. Our principles. Or is she just loyal to _you_?"

Danse blinked; it was his only response because he was…scared. And when he was scared or confused, he retreated and re-grouped. Carefully catalogued each of his thoughts and possible actions, which unfortunately wasn't an option at the moment.

As a Paladin, Danse asked for two things from his men: honesty and respect. That meant _he_ was supposed to be honest in turn to his superiors.

He could not be honest with Maxson, not now. Danse had no proof Howard was a traitor. He didn't believe she was, but did she extol Brotherhood values like she was _supposed_ to?

No.

She did not see the world in black and white like most people in the Wasteland—she cared about individuals, about her friends, her independence, which sometimes left little room for the Brotherhood.

But just because she wasn't passionate like him _didn't_ mean she was a member of the Railroad. Or that she'd been a traitor at Bunker Hill. She'd been injured by the Institute like the rest of them—she couldn't be working for them.

"Of course she is," Danse finally said with as much force as he could manage. "I have no doubts."

Maxson inspected him. "With any other soldier, I might take such a strong answer as evidence of clouded judgment," he remarked. "But I know _you_ would never let any personal attachment get in the way of the Brotherhood's best interests."

Danse did not want to think about what Maxson's tone implied. Had he heard rumors about Howard and him? _Was_ he spending too much time with her?

He squeezed his hands hard behind his back instead of swallowing his nerves—Maxson would see that and _know_.

Danse felt exposed, caught, like Maxson could read his mind and see just how badly his judgment was clouded because of his feelings.

"Never," Danse said.

Maxson stepped back, though the air did not feel any less tense. "I appreciate your input on this matter, but I want to be cautious," he said. "Monitor Howard more closely than before-,"

"Arthur-," Danse protested.

"This is _not_ up for debate, Paladin!" Maxson interrupted tersely. "Where she goes, _you go_. If she's an enemy of the Brotherhood, you do what you need to."

Danse didn't dare acknowledge the anger that shot through him—anger directed _at_ his superior officer because he'd implied that Howard might be harmed. He already knew the lengths he would go to protect her from that.

"Can I ask what has created this suspicion?" Danse asked incredulously. "Is it only because of what happened at Bunker Hill?"

"We have taps into Railroad intelligence, too. Ways to learn about their movements and their members." Maxson crossed his arms over his chest. "In fact, according to our reports, they recently recruited a new member."

Danse frowned. "That doesn't mean it's-,"

"Code-name Carrot-top?" Maxson finished with his brow raised—he said each word as a careful accusation because they _both_ knew how bad that looked.

For the first time in the conversation, Danse visibly panicked. His forehead wrinkled, and he felt a shaky breath leave him. Danse had thought he knew everything Maxson could throw at him, but this…this was bad. What if that _was_ Howard? She'd be the type to only identify herself by her hair, as opposed to other traits she never believed she had.

Danse destroyed that thought swiftly—it _wasn't_ true. Howard was loyal to the Brotherhood, and she'd risked her life to get them into the Institute. The synths had kidnapped her son and murdered her husband—she had _every_ reason to hate them.

Another thought scurried underneath the panic—something insidious and _jealous_. Why did Maxson remember her hair was red? Why did he care? Why had Danse noticed that about her after months of traveling together and Maxson already knew?

"Having…red hair in the Commonwealth isn't unusual," Danse remarked.

"Picking a name like that is, seeing as no one who's lived after the war has eaten a carrot or knows what they look like," Maxson said.

"It's an expression."

Maxson stopped closer again with a scowl on his lips. "Keep an eye on Howard," he said in a clipped tone. "That's an order."

"Yes, sir," Danse replied immediately, though it sickened him.

"You're dismissed, soldier," Maxson said. He sounded almost _disgusted_ , but Danse did not wait around to ask about it. He saluted and then marched out as quickly as he could without raising _more_ suspicion.

Danse let out a long, miserable breath once he was outside. He was _lying_ outright to the Brotherhood now, all because of some woman he had a _stupid_ infatuation with. He had decided a long time ago that he did not need love, or companionship, or any of the difficulties attached to a relationship—he had the Brotherhood. _And nothing else_.

Addison returned to Sanctuary after meeting with Shaun. Things were peaceful there—no attacks or arguments or changing alliances. Just people working together to create a safe space. No matter what faction she chose to be a part of, Sanctuary would always feel like home.

Addison was in her house, unbuttoning her white shirt and wincing at the burn on her chest, when Dogmeat chuffed from the living room. He cocked his head, chest rising, but he stopped as soon as Piper appeared in the doorway. Nick followed behind her.

Addison clumsily buttoned the rest of her shirt up. "Hey," she said. "Nice to see you two. Everything alright?"

Piper walked into her bedroom with her arms crossed. "Not even a little."

She furrowed her brow. "What is it?"

"I want to talk to you about this-," She pointed with her finger to Addison's chest. "This _insanity_."

Addison sighed. "Piper, I know it was unorthodox, but-,"

Piper interrupted her with a wave of her hand. "No—no, _unorthodox_ is the weird science crap you use to solve problems. You hurt yourself _badly_ because you were afraid to tell Danse the truth. Afraid to tell anyone the truth."

Addison clenched her jaw tightly. She knew Piper was right, but admitting it meant that she would have to talk to Danse, Des, her son. Conversations too difficult to have if she wanted to keep them in her life.

"I don't know what else I'm supposed to do," she said.

Nick frowned beside them. "What are you afraid of?"

She was afraid of too many things to count. "If I…" She clenched her hands. "If I tell Danse the truth-,"

"You mean what you believe about synths?" Nick interjected.

"He won't understand," Addison said. "He's too…principled."

"That's it?" Piper began incredulously. "You explain your beliefs, he might leave, so you-,"

"Come on, Piper, she obviously cares for him," Nick said.

"No—I-I mean-," Addison stopped, blushing, before her shoulders dropped. "I don't want to lose anyone. Not when I've already…" Lost everyone once before.

Piper sighed. "This isn't sustainable. You know that."

"I know," Addison replied softly. She'd known that the minute Piper directed the shock baton her way, and pain had lanced across her chest. It remained even as she stood in her house now, a reminder of her precarious situation. And her stupidity, probably.

"Maybe you're giving Danse too little credit," Piper remarked. "He's crazy about you. He might-,"

Addison snorted. "I want that to be true, but…" She shook her head, eyes stopping on Nick, who seemed to agree that Danse was incapable of looking past his Brotherhood duties to anything else.

"It's only going to get worse, Blue," Piper insisted. "The Brotherhood could _hurt_ you if you're traitorous enough." She rubbed her temple. "Which you arguably have been."

Addison sat down on her bed. "Danse wouldn't let that happen, though that doesn't mean he'd ever speak to me again."

Piper settled next to her while Nick stood on her other side. "We don't want you to get hurt," she said. "Either by your own dumb decisions or someone else."

Addison put her elbows on her knees. "I won't do that again—with the shock baton," she said. "I'm not going to go into battle like that."

"Out in the Commonwealth that's not really something you can control," Nick remarked.

"I can try," she muttered.

A loud whirring broke the silence from outside the window, and this time Dogmeat did jump up from the couch, barking frantically. Addison slipped through her door and out to the living room. Through the window, she could see the long grass in one of Sanctuary's empty lots being blown around and debris and dirt flying everywhere.

A Vertibird was beginning its descent. It hovered a few inches above the ground to allow a man in power armor to jump out. As soon as he hit the ground, the Vertibird engine roared louder, and it flew away.

She heard Piper behind her. "Well speak of the devil."

Addison peered over her shoulder. "I'm sure Danse wouldn't appreciate being compared to the devil."

"He is here, though," Piper said, smirking as Danse removed his helmet and strode towards them.

Addison bit her lip. "I didn't realize he was coming."

Nick was behind them rubbing Dogmeat between his ears. "I can't say I'm surprised."

Danse's footsteps became louder, and he stopped outside the door. "Knight Howard," he said. "Civilian." His eyes settled on Nick and then narrowed—perhaps he was especially irritated given their failure at Bunker Hill. "Why is that thing here?" he asked.

Addison snapped her neck around to frown at him while Nick stood. "Your Paladin is charming, as usual, kid," he remarked.

"Nick is welcome here because he's my friend," Addison said, lips pursed in displeasure. "Like you."

Danse frowned in return. "I'd like to speak to you sometime today, Howard."

"I think that's a good idea," Addison replied. "I've got some settlement business to attend to, but I'll stop by tonight."

"Affirmative," he said, then was off again, clopping back through the grass to his house.

Piper rocked back on her feet once Danse was gone. "I'm glad you two will talk."

Addison sighed. "He just wants to discuss battle plans, and I…" She folded her arms over her chest. "I don't know what I'll do."

Piper patted her on the shoulder. "I've got your back, whatever you choose," she said. "Unless you ask me to electrocute you again. That would be a hard no."

Addison snorted. "I understand. Thank you."

She nodded to Nick and Piper as she slipped through the front door—it was best to distract herself with various settlement tasks she needed to complete to keep things up and running, rather than face what she might say to Danse.

Addison followed Danse's footsteps in the yard, where his giant metal boots had flattened the grass. He had already disappeared into his house—the one beside hers—and she did not know if she'd have the courage to speak to him later.

Piper and Nick had been right about her; Addison could not deny that. She'd reached a point where any conversation with Danse would end in disaster. He'd never forgive her for completing missions for the Railroad and sabotaging the Brotherhood's mission at Bunker Hill.

She was technically hurting him _more_ by dragging him along in her continued efforts to hide her allegiancre. Yes, he'd be angry if they spoke now about her treason, but he'd be _angrier_ if they did it later. It was going to end badly no matter what.

Mostly, Addison felt like a fool. And she was embarrassed, too. She was clinging to this relationship she had with Danse, when he would throw it away at the slightest _hint_ of anti-Brotherhood sentiment on her behalf. Why was she striving to preserve something with someone who couldn't see the world beyond that? She tried so hard, and she didn't even know if his feelings extended to more than soldierly comradery. He'd hinted at his affections, but had also drawn pretty explicit lines about what he could not do as a Paladin.

The sun sunk past the houses in the settlement just as Addison ventured to Danse's room. He was not there, and she peeked through the window just in time to see him trekking around the perimeter of Sanctuary. She had settlers assigned to watch duty, but Danse always made his own rounds. He was stubborn that way.

Danse had nowhere to sit in his house. He didn't treat it like a home that needed to be furnished. The place was somewhere he slept because he didn't want to drop off his stuff in the room beside hers, probably for fear of fostering anymore inappropriate rumors. All he had was a cot, and a cabinet to keep his books.

Addison walked to his bedroom and settled on the tip of his cot. She rested her elbows on her knees, then nestled her chin in her palms. The quiet around her was unsettling—but technically quiet was good. There were no enemies around her, or dangerous animals, or weapons firing. It was almost like she was back in Sanctuary before the war. She was still a liar like she was before, certainly.

She rubbed her temples in slow circles, like that would summon the courage for her to actually tell Danse the truth about…everything. She should at least try, no matter how angry it made him.

The drywall beside her had been torn down and destroyed, and she had a clear view of what remained of the bathroom. This house was laid out the same way as hers and Nate's—all part of a suburban paradise where everything was homogeneous.

The mirror above the cracked porcelain sink was reduced to a single jagged piece in the corner, but as Addison sat up, she could just see herself in it. Danse probably used it to shave whenever he bothered to.

The mirror was broken in another way—Addison saw a _stranger_ in her reflection. A stranger with all the features her mother hated: frizzy hair, dull skin, dark circles under her eyes. The wasteland Addison lived in made her haggard, a ghost of her former pristine image.

She stalked over to the mirror to look closer—she saw her red hair in the low light, and green eyes, but everything else was foreign to her. Is this what she looked like now? The stress, the pain, the environment—she felt as if she'd aged five years in a matter of months.

Addison turned sharply away, back to the cot, and let her reflection remain there to betray her. Her appearance had been all she had control over before the war. Marrying into Nate's family meant she was often in the public eye. No one carried about her skills, or her personality, just her appearance. Even as a lawyer she had sometimes felt like only a visual addition to her litigation team.

Danse's books were arranged in a neat pile beside her, his bag sagging near it. She perked up when she spotted the book on power armor he had—the one with a chapter on her father's work with the power core.

Her picture was in there. The version of herself that was primped and pampered and spoiled. She pried the book from the bottom of the pile, and without using the table of contents flipped to the right page.

Except the right page wasn't _there_. She saw the jagged edge of a ripped page near the binding, but that was all.

Addison lowered the book to her side with her brow furrowed. Had Danse torn the page out on purpose? Was he angry with her for some reason?

She hurriedly returned the book to the bottom of the pile, worried that if Danse discovered what she'd seen he'd be upset. Dread hardened in her gut the longer she sat. Maybe she had been wrong about Danse all along, and rather than having any feelings for her at all, he _dis_ liked her.

The front door opened, and Danse appeared. She probably should have heard him stepping out of his power armor in the yard, but she'd been too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice.

She stood immediately, but he did not look at her. He had his fingers stretched across his jumpsuit and was trying to scrape away what looked like an oil stain. He eventually lifted his head and looked through the hole in the wall at her.

"Howard," he said. "Could you look in my bag for a power core? The one in my armor ran out of juice."

"Sure," Addison said, and then she knelt down next to his chest of drawers where his bag laid. He carried a standard Brotherhood pack around—bulky and with about a million pockets. Danse's was mostly filled with ammo and extra weapons. He didn't carry around extra clothes, or treats, or anything not related to his job as a soldier.

She opened the smallest pocket at the front. Inside there were only a few neatly folded pieces of paper.

Normally, Addison would respect Danse's privacy and only search his bag insofar as she was looking for an extra power core. But among the pieces of paper, she saw a ragged edge—like a page torn from a book. Maybe a _specific_ book about power armor.

Her eyes darted up to the living room, where Danse still stood messing with his jumpsuit. She quickly reached into the pocket and fanned out the pages to look at them.

Addison had been crouching with one knee propped against the floor. Her other knee dropped beside it as she slumped down in disbelief at what she saw.

Her young, un-tarnished face was staring back at her—the photo from the book _saved_ in Danse's bag because he didn't have room to carry the book itself around all the time. Behind that, her sketch of Walden Pond. Then, other useless doodles she remembered drawing at night by the fire and leaving behind because she didn't think they were worth saving. Sketches of plants, Dogmeat asleep beside her, houses and structures they passed—Danse had _collected_ them. Apparently they were worth keeping in his eyes.

Last was a note she had written him once and laid out on the counter. She'd gone out with Piper and knew that he would wonder where she was when he returned from his patrols. It was short; all it said was— _Out with Piper. Try to get some sleep. –Addison._

Danse had said once that he was impressed with her penmanship. No one in the Commonwealth wrote much now, and her curving scrawl was another vestige of a lost time. She never thought he was impressed enough to keep a note like this.

But it wasn't that Danse was _impressed_ with her handwriting or her art skills. It was…he _liked_ her. Really, really liked her and pined for her, and out of all the things he left behind when he traveled to be an efficient soldier, he chose to carry mementos of her with him.

"Howard, did you find it?"

Danse's voice made her jump and crinkle some of the papers. The sound of his footsteps bled into the hallway as Addison scrambled to return the pages and zip the pocket.

Just as he appeared in the doorway, she pulled a power core from the main part of the bag.

"Oh, um, I—I've got it," she said hastily, then thrust it in his direction.

"Thanks," Danse replied. He did not look suspicious at all, despite Addison's flushed cheeks and awkward shifting.

"You, er—wanted to talk?" she asked as she walked to the other side of the room, as far away from his pack as possible.

"Yeah," Danse said and sat down on his cot. "Wanted to check-in about our plans for traveling."

 _Our_ plans, he'd said. Because he thought they were traveling together. Except Addison couldn't attend Shaun's Directorate meeting or visit the Railroad with him at her side.

"I…was going to attend some personal matters for a few days," she remarked. "Not personal for me, but…" She pushed her hair behind her ear. "Cait asked for my help with something."

Danse shrugged. "Okay. I can come too."

Her hand drifted to the back of her neck. "I don't think that's a good idea. Cait has been really struggling with her chem use, and we're going to…I just don't think she'd want an _audience_ for this sort of thing."

He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Howard, you committed yourself to the Brotherhood when you joined my squad. Our work should be your primary focus."

"It is," Addison insisted. "I just fought in a battle on the Brotherhood's behalf. Just because I take a few days off when we have nothing going on doesn't mean I'm not committed."

"We have plenty going on," he protested. "Rebuilding Liberty Prime requires your expertise."

She furrowed her brow. "Doctor Li and Ingram are doing a fine job with that," she said.

"I would think it matters to you whether or not the Brotherhood succeeds in destroying the Institute," he said with a frown.

"Of course it matters to me," she replied indignantly. "Me traveling with Cait and helping my friend has nothing to do with that."

"You don't want me to come," he said. "I'm your _sponsor_."

Addison hesitated. "I promise that after I help Cait, you and I will travel together, as much as you want."

Danse waited in silence a few moments before he stood and ran his hand through his hair. "I apologize, Howard. I shouldn't…have come on so strong. I know—I _know_ you would never do anything to hurt the Brotherhood."

Addison stiffened, then let her hair fall past her shoulders as she looked at her feet. She promised she was going to _try_ to talk to Danse. To push back a little against his stalwart belief to see how much wiggle room she had. Instead, she told him exactly what he wanted to hear. Total _lies_ he wanted to hear.

She clenched her jaw hard. "Danse, I…" Her breath came out sharp through her lips when her words wouldn't. "I don't know. At Bunker Hill…"

He stepped closer, and instead of hunkering away from him, she was drawn to the broadness of his shoulders, how large and comforting he would feel if she just…

"You can't let what happened at Bunker Hill affect you," Danse said. "We failed, but it wasn't your fault. That was only one small battle in the war we are waging, and I promise we will win." He raised his hand and inched towards her, but his fingers only hovered near her arm before they dropped. "Don't you want to avenge your husband? And your son?"

She shook her head. "You want me to avenge my son by…by fighting him and destroying everything he built?"

"The Institute robbed you of the chance to raise Shaun," Danse said. "To turn him into…into a wonderful person like you instead of a cold and calculating scientist."

Wonderful person. God— _God_ , how could she do this? Danse obviously cared for her, and she wanted to be with him if he would just…put aside his duty to the Brotherhood. And a small, logical part of her screamed that Danse would _never_ do that. If she just had a little more time…

Addison swallowed. "I-I understand. I want them—the Institute—gone."

His lip curled up in a soft smile. "I knew you would never betray all we've accomplished together."

She raised her hand and put it against his chest because she wanted _progress_ from her lies. To feel his breathing under her palm and be closer to him so that all her words, though untrue, yielded something good. Her thumb ran up the cold metal of his jumpsuit zipper while her fingers followed the ridges in the fabric beside it.

"Never," she said softly. Her voice wouldn't break if she was quiet.

Danse wrapped his hand around her wrist. Large and calloused, but he didn't pull away. He was clearly flustered—his heartbeat was faster, cheeks flushed.

"That's good," he said. "I-I…I never doubted your loyalty-," He swallowed. "As a soldier."

She saw his jaw tighten under his stubble, and he extracted her hand from his chest. "I should…uh, recheck the perimeter."

"Danse, the perimeter is secure," she said with a small smile.

"Well it never hurts to check, a-and I have to replace me power core anyway," he replied. He was slowly backing away towards the door frame.

Addison would have been disappointed at his fleeing before. But it was better he leave because she had lied to him, and even if he denied it, she knew how he felt.

"But you're…" Danse cleared his throat. "You're great. A great soldier. I can't even begin to imagine doing this without you."

"Me neither," Addison whispered—she couldn't imagine it so she lied to keep things the way they were.

Danse nodded to her and disappeared down the hallway. As soon as he was out the door to his power armor, Addison buried her face in her hands. Her heart was thrumming in her chest, pumping dread to every part of her body and making her numb.

Why couldn't she tell anyone the truth? Was she so pathetically desperate for approval—for _something_ from Danse that she was willing to hurt him?

Addison might look different, but she was still the same person from before the war. The same liar. The same coward. Destined to be just as miserable as she'd been before.

Addison left Sanctuary with Cait the next day. Danse stood outside his house and watched her leave, which only made her burn with more guilt. Cait said nothing about it—she was loathe to talk about emotions—so they just walked in silence.

To the Railroad Headquarters.

Addison had no way of knowing if someone from the Brotherhood was following them. She didn't have that kind of expertise, so she relied on Cait to monitor their surroundings.

When they arrived at the church, Addison was not greeted by the smiling faces of her fellow agents. No, they were weary of her. She might have rescued the synths at Bunker Hill, but they were all perceptive and knew what choices she was making. Or Deacon had told them.

Addison walked over to Des while she was at her desk, leaving Cait to intimidate the agents milling around the room. She'd probably steal a few things too, to Addison's chagrin.

Des was seated behind her desk, reviewing some documents. She didn't even lift her head when Addison stopped in front of her.

"I'm glad we got the synths out at Bunker Hill, but I don't like how you did it." She finally looked up with a frown. "I can't trust you as long as you hang around those Brotherhood goons."

Addison crossed her arms. "It's nice to see you too, Des. I didn't come here to talk about Bunker Hill. I've spoken to Liberty."

Des seemed interested after that. She straightened and leaned back in her creaky chair. "He responded to our message?"

"I met him," Addison explained. "His name is Liam. He has a plan to release 13 synths from the Institute at once. Ones who want to escape."

"That's bold," Des replied. "How can we help?"

Addison stepped closer to the desk. "He needs to open some doors at the Institute, which requires bypassing SRB electronic security."

"Can't he just crack the code?" Des asked.

Addison shook her head. "No. It's too complex. He wants a pre-war admin password."

Des stood, brow furrowed slightly. "We have a lot of junk here, but not one of those lying around. We'll have to search for it. Let's get PAM's help."

Des was already walking away, and Addison followed her. "Right now?"

"Yeah," she said. "Might as well figure it out now before you leave and get yourself killed by the Brotherhood."

Addison sighed. "They wouldn't."

They were in the back room by now—more of a cave really—and Des gestured to the terminal beside Pam, the robot motionless in the corner. Addison sat down.

"What should I put in my report?" she asked.

"Absolutely everything you can," Des said. "The more data Pam has, the more accurate the prediction."

Addison wrote all she could about the Institute. What she could remember, anyway. Each time she went left her in a daze, especially the first time when she'd explored the massive complex. Des stood by her the entire time, tapping her foot impatiently against the dirt under them.

Once the report was finished, she heard the clack of metal behind her.

"Pam?" Des said hopefully.

Addison turned in her chair as Pam spoke.

"Preliminary analysis complete. Code name Patriot requires credentials for Code Defender security software. Cross-indexing CIT Security Administrators with 2077 Commonwealth Census Records. Filtering by surviving structures."

Pam processed for an impressively short amount of time, the low lights on her face flickering when she was done.

"One match found. Clayton, Warren."

Addison stood. "What?"

Pam, of course, did not respond to her outburst. "Clayton, Warren registered as CEO of Clayton Industries and member of CIT Board of Trustees. 81% of login credentials being located at his personal laboratory."

Addison turned away and pressed her palm against her temple. "Damn it."

How was it that the dead members of her family _always_ found a way to burrow into her life after the war? She wanted nothing more than to leave her father's legacy behind.

Des walked over to face her. "Hold on," she began incredulously. "Dr. Clayton is your father, isn't he? Why didn't you think of this?"

She sharply dropped her hand. "My father was very secretive about his work. Most times, I had no idea what kind of access he had."

Des smiled slightly. "This is great news," she said. "If those codes are at his personal laboratory, you know exactly where to go, don't you? How to navigate the area?"

"Technically, but-,"

Pam spoke again. "The personal laboratory of Clayton, Warren is in a region labeled 'extremely dangerous.'"

Des cursed under his breath after a sharp exhale.

"What is it?" Addison asked.

She waved her hand. "You're no good at _extremely dangerous_ , Howard. We'll have to send some agents with you."

Addison stiffened. She could not have Railroad agents with her now that Danse insisted they be glued at the hip. "No, no," she replied hastily. "That won't be necessary. I will…bring my friends along from Sanctuary."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Brotherhood friends?"

Addison frowned. "Don't worry," she insisted. "I won't mess this up. I haven't yet."

"Yeah well try not to start," Des replied, closer now with a scowl on her face. "This may be our only chance to get the code."

"I'll get it," she repeated, with more bravado than she thought she could manage.

Des nodded curtly. "After you get the password, report back here. With any luck, we'll have a game plan by then."

"Okay," Addison said, then she turned to Pam. "I appreciate your help, Pam."

"Compliment detected. Analysis: irrelevant."

"My thoughts exactly," Des muttered. One of many who believed her politeness was useless, among other things.

Des returned to her desk, and Addison left quickly after. The longer she was away from Sanctuary, the more suspicious Danse would be of her. Being at the Railroad was her most incriminating act of all—at least at the Institute, she could claim she was gathering intelligence on the Brotherhood's behalf.

As if Danse's suspicious wasn't enough to deal with, Addison was dreading visiting her old home. She had let herself assume it had been destroyed. She told herself the suburbs of Boston were too far to travel. Now, she was being forced to return, if she truly wanted to help the synths at the Institute escape.

Danse was by far the best combatant of all her friends. He would be an asset in an area deemed by Pam to be "extremely dangerous." She _needed_ him, but he'd never follow along if he knew that her mission originated from the Railroad.

She would need a good excuse to convince him to come along. And she was running out of those.

Addison did not have time to visit the Institute _and_ the Railroad while she was with Cait. Danse was weary enough, and being gone for too long would surely show him his confidence about her loyalty was misplaced. Shaun would have to wait for a visit, at least for a while. If Addison was honest with herself, she wasn't sure she could face him. Not as he continued to distance himself from the person she wanted him to be.

As soon as she arrived back in Sanctuary, Danse suggested they visit the Boston Airport. He wanted to check-in with Ingram to see if she needed any help refurbishing Liberty Prime. Addison agreed because at least she wasn't being thrust into another dangerous battle.

When they arrived at the airport, it was almost dark—only the gold lights around the barricade illuminated the guards and other soldiers milling around. Liberty Prime towered above them all, his imposing frame mostly covered by the metal platforms built all around him. Ingram had made impressive progress assembling him since Addison had last visited.

Danse and Addison met with Ingram at the control center in front of Liberty Prime. Despite the fact that it was almost dark, both Ingram and Dr. Li continued to work.

Ingram saw them—and probably heard Danse in his power armor—and gave a curt nod.

"Thanks for your help with those actuators, Howard."

Addison stopped in front of her. "No problem," she said. "It's nice to see you."

"Yeah. That," Ingram said offhandedly before she gestured past the control panel. "I ask you here because I need your help with Prime. He's missing one last important element: his nukes."

Addison's brow arched sharply in. The Brotherhood intended to arm their war machine with _nuclear_ weapons?

"Excuse me?"

Ingram dropped her hand. "Without them, his offensive systems won't be operating at peak capacity."

Addison shook her head. "Yes, I understand, but I wouldn't think the Brotherhood would approve of using nuclear weapons," she said. "Considering how critical Maxson is of the scientists who _created_ that technology before the war."

Danse interjected immediately. "Howard, in the right hands and with the right tools, Liberty Prime will be able to wipe the Institute off the map."

Addison turned to look at him. She was a bit surprised by the sternness in his voice. His jaw was set in a hard line, and Addison realized she had spoken out of turn. To criticize Maxson in this environment was inappropriate. Dangerous. Potentially stupid, given her recent activities.

"Right, of course," she said, recanting her previous statement. "What…sort of nuclear payload are you looking for?"

"Liberty Prime uses modified Mark 28 nuclear bombs," Ingram explained. "They-,"

"The US government used to drop them from _planes_ during the war to desecrate entire cities," Addison finished, trying to reign in her incredulous tone. She found it _unsettling_ that the Brotherhood preached anti-technological values while hoarding that technology for themselves.

Danse did not like that comment either. He frowned. "Howard-,"

"No, she's right," Ingram said, unperturbed. "Just one of those nukes is equal to about three or four Fat Man shells. Basically, whatever it hits isn't getting back up again."

Clearly the Brotherhood did not spurn powerful technology that could be useful to them. "Do you know where to find them?" Addison asked.

Ingram sighed. "I wish I did. The Commonwealth was a major staging area for the military's air force, so we assumed we wouldn't have trouble finding them. But our scouting teams haven't located a single bomb."

"That's not good," Addison remarked.

Ingram turned to her control panel. "Proctor Quinlan is combing through every pre-war document we have trying to find a clue to where they could have been stored." She gestured between Addison and Danse. "We thought you could help with that, given you were alive when the bombs were being built."

"The location of nuclear storage facilities wasn't information shared very freely before the war," Addison replied with a skeptical look.

"If you can think of something, anything, it might help," Ingram insisted. "Prime is operating at half-capacity without the nukes."

That sounded like a good thing, but Addison nodded with a smile anyway. "Alright. I'll try."

"Thank you, Knight," Ingram said, then she nodded to Danse. "Paladin."

Ingram returned to her work, apparently not one to be outdone by Dr. Li. Addison headed back down the metal stairs, though they rattled violently as she descended because Danse was following her.

It was darker on the ground—the path to the main building of the airport was mostly shrouded in shadow. Danse spoke after she made it a few steps.

"So?" he said. "Do you have any ideas?"

Addison hesitated, then stopped to face him. "Danse, I'm just not sure about this."

"About what?"

She ran her hand through her hair, though it was matted from their ride in the Vertibird. "The Brotherhood using nuclear weapons to destroy the Institute," she began. "It just seems…hypocritical. Maxson already hoards most of the technology he complains about. Is our mission to eradicate the Institute or just ensure that we're the only ones with the superior technology?"

Danse stepped closer. She could hardly read his expression in the darkness. "The Brotherhood's mission— _our_ mission—is to protect the people of the Commonwealth from the unnatural and destructive technology being created by the Institute. You know that. I taught you that."

She rolled her next words around her tongue for a few moments. Carefully. Thoughtfully. The Brotherhood's tactics had upset her before, but this seemed like such a blatant violation.

"Is that all that matters?" she finally asked.

Danse exhaled sharply through his nose. "Howard, your condemnation of Maxson's strategy is not appropriate," he said in a low voice. "You shouldn't say such things here. Or anywhere. I won't allow it."

She scowled. "You won't allow it?"

He was silent at first, the tension higher now that his tone had hardened. And quickly, too. Like he had been expecting her to say such insubordinate things.

"I would hate to see you alienated from the Brotherhood," he remarked. "…and from me."

Addison's eyes widened slightly—Danse was never one for sending subtle messages, but it was easy enough to see that was a change in his rhetoric. His discussion of her commitment had always been framed in terms of her role as a soldier. She was supposed to be loyal because their principles were right and true.

Now—now, Danse was asking her to watch her words to prevent losing _him_. She could not decide if she was angry he was trying to leverage their relationship in that way. Is that the _only_ time he'd acknowledge their importance to one another? When he was asking her to do something for the Brotherhood?

Either way, she was making herself look more suspicious. Like more of a target.

Addison sighed heavily and retreated a few steps from him with her shoulders hunched. What was supposed to be her plan now? She needed to find these bombs _and_ find a way into her pre-war home to help the Railroad.

Before the war, the Mark 28 facility—Sentinel Site Prescott—had been a big deal, in certain circles, at least. Addison's father was elated about the project because he wanted Boston to be a base for all government nuclear operations, with him in the center. Bombs, fusion cores, weapons, cars—he wanted it all and talked about it frequently.

Addison knew where the bombs were. The site was a pyramid, after all—not exactly a subtle addition to the Boston landscape when it was built. If she told Danse this, he'd demand they travel to the site right away, and she would have no time to help the Railroad.

She would need another plan. Another terrible one to add to the growing list.

"I think I have an idea about how to find the Mark 28s," she said, not facing him.

"What is it?" Danse asked.

Addison cleared her throat. "The government probably contracted my father to build them," she said, then shrugged. "He at least knew about them, I'm sure. There might be some helpful information on his console. The one in his lab."

Danse walked over, his bulky shadow blocking the light even more. "You mean the one he built under your house?"

"Yes," she said, raising her head. "If I can access it, maybe there will be some useful data."

By _useful data_ , she meant information helpful to the Railroad. Danse couldn't know that. He could only think they were completing a Brotherhood mission, while she swindled him into using his combat skills to get her through a dangerous zone and help his enemies. She ignored the fact that her plan made her want to vomit.

Danse nodded thoughtfully. "That's a good instinct, Howard. We should leave right away."

Addison opened her mouth, though her throat went a little dry before she could speak. Her guilt sapping her of dignity and moisture, apparently.

"Okay," she said. "Let's leave in the morning. I'll lead the way."

They headed for the airport without another word. Danse had fallen hook, line, and sinker for her plan. And now he was unwittingly going to help the Railroad free synths from the Institute.


	18. Chapter 18

Danse and Howard traveled northwest through Boston for an entire day. For once, Howard led the way, and Danse had to stop himself from constantly asking how close they were.

He was glad to have an actual plan to find nukes for Maxson. And one suggested by Howard, no less. He used that fact to convince himself that Howard was as loyal as ever. She was going to be the reason Liberty Prime was operating at peak capacity, just like she was the reason the Brotherhood infiltrated the Institute.

They were outside Boston proper before Howard gave Danse any indication that they were close.

Even though he'd asked her to, she did not wear her power armor. Said something about needing her fingers and not clunky gloves. He didn't push the issue because they'd had enough tense conversations.

They were on a winding road leading to a small, gated neighborhood by the late afternoon. There wasn't much left of any of the houses, but it looked like an affluent area.

Howard pulled her sniper rifle from around her shoulder. "This area looks dangerous."

"Are we close?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied as she surveyed the desolate scenery surrounding them. "At least I think we are. This neighborhood used to be a little better maintained."

Danse thought to smile, but Howard was already leading him along the asphalt road. After a few minutes, she trekked up a set of hills beside them. Dead grass crunched under their feet, breaking the silence they carried. Howard stopped him by raising her hand.

"Down there," she said.

There was a large estate at the bottom of the hill. Most of the iron gate surrounding the property had been destroyed, like almost half the house. Still, it was an impressive structure.

Of course, the quaintness of the house was dampened by the red bags of flesh hanging from the walls and by the front door. Super mutants.

Howard knelt down behind the cover of a clump of brambles. "Do you see the super mutants?" she said. "God, if only my mother was alive to see her home taken over by such uncleanliness."

Danse tried to kneel down beside her, but he doubted he was being as stealthy. "See what you can do from here, and then we'll move in."

Howard raised her scope to her eye. She spoke after a few moments. "There are a lot of them. Who knows how many are inside..."

"We have to take them out," Danse insisted. "I'm sure your father's console will have a wealth of information for the Brotherhood."

Howard said nothing to that, only let her slender finger hover over the trigger on her rifle. She braced her body before she fired, just like he'd taught her.

After firing three shots, she had killed two super mutants and sent them into a frenzy. Danse would be spotted soon, but for now they were far enough away that Howard could pick them off in little danger.

Howard was nothing if not patient, so she did not fire again until a super mutant dared peek out, searching for hostiles.

She let out a final shot before she cursed under her breath. "They spotted us."

Danse readied his laser rifle. "I will make an advance down. You stay here and keep firing."

"But-,"

He stood and heard the super mutants roaring as he appeared. Bullets immediately started whizzing their way.

"That's an order, Knight," he said, before he jogged down the grassy hill, aiming his rifle at the super mutant lumbering towards him.

More super mutants poured out the front door, and Danse could hear Howard targeting them. There were still plenty for him to deal with.

He found cover behind a clump of spindly trees at the bottom of the hill. He picked off a few super mutants as they attempted to cross over the collapsed fence, but others broke through and barreled towards him.

Howard managed to hit one through the neck—the super mutant collapsed in the grass under a dark stain from its blood. After that, she was reloading, so Danse was on his own with his laser rifle.

He managed to ground one more super mutant before he had to retreat a few steps up the hill. Two bullets had ricocheted off his armor and others flew past him, just barely missing his head.

Danse did not hear the loud beeping behind him until it was too late. By the time he turned his head, the flash of red on the super mutant's arm was too close—he was already in range of the Fat Boy with no clear shot.

He staggered backwards, fast enough that he put some distance between them. His vision was abruptly filled with a bright, blinding light. He was pushed bodily backward so hard that he flew through the air, power armor and all. He felt intense heat, even through his helmet, before he slammed into the ground and rolled.

Pain shot through him after the initial shock had faded. He felt blood crawling down his forehead and over his eyebrow.

After what seemed like only a second, his armor hissed open behind him, and his body slumped out, in more pain than ever.

"Danse! _Danse!_ "

There were a pair of hands touching his shoulders, then his chest, all the places that _hurt_. He trapped a yelp of pain in his throat and tried to sit up.

"Howard, I'm fine," he croaked, and his eyes cracked opened to find her crouching over him. "Are there anymore-,"

"They're all dead," she interjected. Her voice was thick and wobbly. "Danse, I'm sorry. I didn't see the Fat Boy a-and I was aiming for his _head_ , but-," She put her palm against his cheek. "I'm so sorry. I'm-,"

Danse propped himself up on one elbow. "Whoa, Howard, calm down. I'm okay."

Her eyes were glassy, and she blinked rapidly to keep any tears from escaping. "I know, it's just…" She swallowed. "If anything were to happen to you—during _this_ mission of all things."

"This mission is just like any other," Danse said. "I would gladly sacrifice my life to help the Brotherhood defeat the Institute."

Addison fell down onto her other knee. "I don't want that happening because of my bad aim."

Danse sat up completely. "Howard, you did a great job out there. Really."

She sighed and looked past him. "Your armor is ruined."

He peered over his shoulder—she wasn't completely right about that, but his armor was in no shape to be worn. "Not ruined, but I'll need to repair it."

"I'm sorry," she repeated again, sounding miserable.

Danse knew he shouldn't, but he put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm just glad you're here."

Howard put her fingers on his arm. "I wouldn't want to be with anyone else."

That was exactly what he wanted to hear, but instead of smiling, he cleared his throat and looked past her at the bodies littering the hill. "We shouldn't stay out here for long. It might not be safe."

One Stimpack later and Howard was helping him to his feet—he could walk fine, but his head and arm were killing him. They hiked the rest of the way down the hill to the fence. One side of it had been torn down, and they stepped through into the yard.

Danse's laser rifle was still intact, so he readied it as they approached the front door.

"The house is in good shape," he remarked. "Given the circumstances. Why didn't you want to visit sooner?"

Howard pursed her lips. "I…suppose my memories of this place aren't great. There are some parts of my past I'd prefer to leave behind."

Danse nodded. "I-,"

He was cut off when she raised her hand and then hurried forward. They were almost to the front door, but she passed it to jog down the driveway.

"What is it?" Danse demanded.

She stopped in front of a blasted out car—or the frame of one. There were flecks of blue paint remaining in some places where the hood had been, and one of the doors was open, though it was falling off its hinges.

"This is— _was_ my parents' car," she said. "The…The nearest Vault would have required them to drive. Nate and I ran to ours."

She circled the car and pried open what remained of the trunk. Danse followed her, just in time to hear her give a small laugh. It sounded more like a huff, really.

"Howard?"

She leaned back and crossed her arms. "God."

He peered inside the trunk—it had a few corroded holes in the bottom, and then some dark leather bags piled in that were mostly destroyed. They had been looted, so all that remained were clothes.

"I don't understand," Danse said.

Howard shook her head, lip upturned slightly. "They never made it to the Vault. My parents. Or my mother, at least." She gestured to the trunk. "When the bombs first fell and the alarms went off, we were all supposed to leave, immediately. Except my mother had quite the predilection for material possessions."

He frowned. "You're saying she took too long to gather her things? How can you be sure?"

Howard lifted her head, eyes on the dreary sky above them. "When Nate and I were being lowered into Vault 87, we saw a bomb drop. I think that's what killed them. Right here."

Danse turned to the house with his brow furrowed. "I don't understand. How is the house still standing?"

She closed the trunk. "This probably wasn't ground zero, so I imagine the radiation got them." Her hand reached up to touch her temple. "My father built this house himself, so he probably designed it to withstand a nuclear disaster. He helped build the bombs. He had to know the world was going to shit because of them."

"That's good for us," Danse said. "It probably means his console is still intact."

"Yeah, great," Howard muttered, as she rounded the car towards the front door.

Danse winced. Clearly, as always, he'd said the wrong thing. He quickly followed her. "I'm sorry, Howard. About your parents."

She shrugged. "I knew they were dead. It's been 200 years."

Howard led him back to the front door, which was busted open and littered with evidence of a super mutant infestation. Still, by the time they made it inside, he could tell the house was once impressive. High ceilings, marble floors, a grand staircase.

Howard ignored all of it and shot straight up the stairs. She was keeping her head down, like she didn't _want_ to remember this place at all.

"Stay vigilant," he reminded her.

She didn't respond and turned left down an ornate hallway. They passed two or three rooms, mostly destroyed, before stopping in front of a set of closed double doors.

Howard shook the handle, but it didn't budge. Danse was disappointed for a second before she flipped open a control pad beside the door.

"Power's been cut," she remarked. "I think I can restore it from here."

"I thought you said the lab was in the basement," Danse said.

The control pad hummed to life beside her after a few moments. "This is his office. It provides the only access to the lab below."

The doors hissed open after she entered a sequence in the control pad, and she gave a satisfied grin.

"How did you know the code?" Danse asked.

She crossed the threshold. "My father was paranoid about his work, but he always hoped I would abandon my law career to join him. Not be such a disappointment."

Danse was about to reply, but once he followed her into the office, he stopped dead. The room was well preserved—not just that, actually, it was _perfectly_ preserved. There must have been some sort of metal reinforcement in the walls that completely sealed it from the corrosive elements all around them.

Danse walked deeper into the room. He was mesmerized by the clean lines in the furniture, the intact wooden floor under his feet, the smooth, cream-colored walls.

The office was lined with bookshelves—a library of scientific knowledge that Danse knew would be of use to the Brotherhood. Near the ornate wooden desk, there was a wall of photos.

The picture he had of Howard from his book was faded, though in relatively good shape. These were perfect. It wasn't just the smiling faces in the photos, either—the backgrounds were lush and green, the rooms pristine. A mirror into a world he would never know.

Howard was next to the desk, reaching under the drawer to presumably flip a switch because the bookcase beside her rolled back to reveal a door.

Danse's brow creased. "You don't…want to look around?" he began hesitantly. "This is amazing."

Howard paused, fingers pressed against the top of the desk. She took a deep breath and joined him.

"Not the pictures necessarily," he added sheepishly. "Just the whole room. Its condition."

Howard's lips were pressed tightly together, white as her teeth. "My father wasn't very sentimental," she remarked. "These are only the moments he was proud of me. Hence why there are so few of them."

She gestured to a small grouping of them. "This is me winning science fairs, graduating with a chemistry degree. No trace of my law career, of course."

He smiled slightly. "Did you win a lot of awards for your work?"

"None worth mentioning," she said. "I'm sure my greatest achievement was…" She gestured to another photo. "Marrying Nate. His father was going to run for President in a few years after we got together."

Danse cleared his throat awkwardly. He'd been trying to avoid examining her wedding photo too closely. Not just because Howard looked absolutely stunning, but because as he suspected, Nate was a stupidly good-looking young man with none of the wear and tear from the Commonwealth on _his_ face. No wonder she'd missed him so much.

He could not be distracted for long from Howard. Her white smile, eyes like the grass in her drawings, little freckles across her nose he was rarely close enough to see.

"You were— _are_ beautiful," he said belatedly.

When he realized he'd said that _out loud_ , he stiffened and stammered an excuse. "Excuse me. I apologize for saying that."

Her eyes trailed down, hair obscuring her face, though he could tell she was blushing. "You don't have to apologize for a compliment."

He reached back and rubbed the nape of his neck. "I didn't mean to distract us from the mission at hand. We should head to the lab."

Howard did not reply. Instead, she reached out and took a framed photo from the bottom of the group. "I produced a son, too," she added. "And that's always a good thing, according to my parents."

The picture was of Shaun, just an infant wrapped in a blue blanket with reddish skin and a scrunched up face. Danse had never seen a newborn before, but they weren't as cute as people seemed to think.

Howard's jaw was clenched tight, trying to hold back a rush of emotion, no doubt.

"I'm sorry," Danse said quietly. "I shouldn't have-,"

"No," she said, returning the photo to the wall. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's nice to see these, even if…" Her shoulders dropped. "Sometimes Shaun doesn't really feel like my son."

Danse lifted his hand—if he put it on her shoulder, surely he would only be comforting her per his duty as a Paladin. He wanted to curl his arm around her back and pull her flush against him. He wanted to _feel_ the warmth he sensed from her skin whenever they stood close to one another, actually touch her hair as it shined in the light rather than observe her from far away when he thought she wouldn't notice.

He did nothing and turned towards the desk. "We're going to avenge the wrong done to you, Howard. By destroying the Institute."

She gave no reply, and a heavy silence followed them both as they crossed the room to the door she'd uncovered. It was an elevator, and after Howard restored power to it, they were inside and descending to the basement.

"Since I used my credentials to get in, we shouldn't have any problem with security," Howard remarked. "Stay alert anyway."

She did not have to tell Danse that—he was _always_ on alert. The elevator dinged, then the doors whooshed open to a massive lab.

Everything was pristine and white, though a thin sheet of dust covered most of the surfaces around them. The room was auspiciously empty; Danse could see giant cylinders lining one side of the room, perhaps filled with equipment, but they were shielded by steel panels. Dr. Clayton had things worth hiding way, things the Brotherhood needed.

Along the other side of the room was a massive console. Not a personal home computer—this was government-issue technology encrypted with the highest levels of security.

"You can look around, but _please_ be careful," Howard said. "My father handled nuclear material down here."

Danse holstered his weapon at his side. "Affirmative."

Howard had reached the console and sat down at the chair. He thought about just standing behind her while she worked, but he was too curious to wait idly. There was a row of unlocked cabinets by the elevators, and he scoured through them while she clacked away on the computer. He found some good parts for Ingram—wires, panels, nice tools, but nothing exceptional. Clearly even in his own lab Dr. Clayton kept his projects well-hidden.

"Find what we're looking for?" Danse asked.

Howard was silent for a moment, then swiveled in the chair to face him. The screen had gone black behind her. "Yes," she said. "Apparently the Mark 28s were stored in Sentinel Site Prescott outside Boston."

"Where is that?" he asked.

Howard stood up and walked over to him. "It's in the Glowing Sea, now. I should be able to find it. The coordinates were on my father's console, and I remember what the structure looked like. It was a pyramid."

Danse smiled broadly—there was pride seeping out of his every pore. Maxson had been _wrong_ about Howard. She wasn't a traitor; she was the most instrumental member the Brotherhood had. She'd single-handedly located the bombs that Prime needed to destroy the Institute, a place she had found in the first place.

"Howard, this is fantastic," he said. "You—I just want you to know I'm proud of you."

She blinked, expressionless at first, before she returned his smile. "I-I'm happy to help, Danse. You know that."

"I know," he repeated softly, still grinning like an idiot.

Her own smile faded, and her eyes darted away. "We should head back up."

"Right, right," he said hurriedly. "The sooner we get those bombs, the better."

When they reached her father's office again, Howard didn't stop. Just traversed the room with a single-mindedness that Danse thought only _he_ had. She didn't want to be here or see reminders of her life before the war, but she'd come anyway because she _cared_ about the Brotherhood.

By the time they were in the front room of the house, Danse heard familiar sounds outside—the roar of Vertibird rotors, and the crash of power armor on concrete. Howard heard it too. Instead of looking happy, her brow creased, and she hurried outside.

Danse followed her, but stopped abruptly when he spotted Maxson dismounting from the Vertibird that had landed in the courtyard. Howard was just as confused.

He marched over with his hands behind his back. "Knight Howard. Paladin Danse."

"What are you doing here?" Howard asked. Danse wished her tone wasn't so harsh.

Maxson gestured to the house. "I'm here to see what treasure awaits in the house of one of the pre-war captains of industry."

"So you followed us?"

His mouth tightened. "I have a much larger stake in this operation than you, Howard. Did you find what we're looking for?"

Danse interjected. "Sir, we did find the location of the Mark 28s. They're in the Glowing Sea. Sentinel Site Prescott."

"Seems appropriate," he remarked, then his steely eyes fell on Howard. "I would offer congratulations, but a good Brotherhood Knight doesn't need thanks for doing their job."

Howard frowned. "I don't know what you expect to find in the house. It's decrepit, and we only used the console at Dr. Clayton's desk."

Danse stiffened, all the pride from earlier sapped from him. Howard was lying directly to Maxson, but if he called her out here, in public, Maxson would know he was right about her. Or _think_ he was.

"Let's hope you missed something then," Maxson replied. "I want you both at the Prydwen preparing to head into the Glowing Sea. We need those bombs as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir," Danse said, saluting to him. Howard followed his lead, and then Maxson broke between the two of them to reach the house without formally dismissing them.

Howard stood in silence for a few moments with her fists clenched.

"Do you…want to take a Vertibird back?" Danse asked.

"No," she snapped and in the same moment was stalking off with her rifle slung over her shoulder.

Danse followed her as she stormed up the hill. His damaged power armor had already been gathered and loaded onto a Vertibird. Once they were far enough away from prying eyes, Danse grabbed her arm, planning to reprimand her for her lie to Maxson.

She stopped and spun to him, speaking before he could.

"Why would you let them come here?" she demanded. "This is my home."

"I didn't personally invite Maxson," he said, letting her go. "It was in my report. I was following protocol."

Howard angrily threw her hand out. "Why did he decide to come then?"

 _He doesn't trust you_ , Danse thought, though he couldn't admit that. "I don't know," he said. "Why does it matter to you? You shouldn't have anything to hide."

"I don't," she insisted. "But…" She exhaled sharply. "My father's lab is… _mine_ now. I don't want people combing through it before I even know what's down there. They'll take everything, and I don't know if I'm comfortable with my father's work being used to hurt people. It's dangerous, too."

"That does not excuse you from lying _directly_ to Elder Maxson," he said sternly. "Howard, you—you can't do that! You could have reasoned with him about searching the lab once you admitted it was there."

" _Reasoned_ with Maxson?" she spat with a surprising amount of venom. "You're asking me to _reason_ with a Brotherhood soldier? To ask him to look beyond protocol and his goal of fighting the Institute?" She gave a derisive snort. "That's a lost cause."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"It means that _reason_ doesn't work on any Brotherhood soldier," she replied. "Not even you."

"Of course I can be reasoned with," he protested. "But there is no excuse for your lie. Nothing justifies it."

"You're not interested in hearing my justification anyway," she snapped.

Danse pressed his fist against his temple. "Howard, I don't have time to listen to it," he said. "Your insubordination is unacceptable and highly against protocol."

Blood rushed to Howard's face, flushing her cheeks and brow, though her lips remained ghostly white as she pressed them tightly together. Her eyes were brimmed with tears, but she was angry. _Furious_.

In the next second, all he saw was the back of her head. She'd spun from him and unclenched her shaking fists to put them on her hips.

Danse thought it was better to say nothing. He just watched her shoulders rise and fall as she drank in air. She was better at wrangling in her anger than he was.

He did not know why she was so upset, but he imagined asking why would only exacerbate the problem. She was trying to speak to him as a _friend_ , but there wasn't time for that. She'd lied to Maxson, and his primary duty was to make sure she understood that was wrong. Though maybe that was…callous.

She spoke finally, but didn't face him. Her voice was tight.

"What do you want from me, Danse?"

"I don't want you to lie to Maxson," he said. "You need to tell him the truth."

Howard nodded. "Okay. I'll tell him after we get the bombs. I'll provide the Brotherhood with full access to the lab under my personal supervision."

That wasn't exactly what Danse wanted, but it was good enough. Howard couldn't be delayed here when they needed to find the Mark 28s.

"Good, Howard," he said. "I'm confident you'll be able to get primary access to the lab to ensure we explore it safely."

"Okay," she repeated in a hollow echo.

Danse sighed and hiked the few steps separating them. He put his hands on her slender shoulders, thinking of providing comfort, but she jerked from his grasp and held up her hand. She was facing him now, eyes bloodshot and wet.

"Please don't touch me."

She might as well have torn his heart from his chest cavity and stomped on it. He swallowed in the few beats of awkward silence—except to him they felt like hours, days, of despair compacting him because he had been right all along that she could _never_ care for him like she cared for her perfect husband.

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling pathetic. "I'm very sorry, Knight."

Howard said nothing, but there were still tears in her eyes. She just dropped her hand and headed back up the hill. Danse followed her in silence.

Addison locked herself in her personal quarters once they boarded the Prydwen. She didn't want dinner in the mess hall, or to have the pleasant conversations people sought her out for—she wanted to be _alone_.

It was dark and cramped in her room. She sat on her cot with her arms across her chest, feeling the ship gently rock as wind blew in from the coast. She'd only turned on her lamp, and the light hardly reached her feet.

She'd had lots of bad days in the Commonwealth. Her first day. The day she found Shaun. Any number of times she was alone and attacked, certain she would die from her lack of experience.

Today counted among one of the worst days, and not just because she knew now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her parents were dead. She'd almost gotten Danse killed because of a stupid mistake on a mission she'd _made up_ to get his help for the Railroad. Then she wished she _had_ killed him because he was so _impossibly_ obtuse.

Being at that house was _hard_. Just as hard as it had been to return to Sanctuary and see Shaun's nursery. To see those places utterly destroyed was the grimmest reminder of all she had lost.

When the Brotherhood showed up to _loot_ her home so they could hoard the technology they destroyed others for having, her anger overtook her. They didn't even _ask_ if they could enter. They just assumed because she was a Brotherhood soldier they were entitled to everything she owned.

If the Brotherhood were given access to her father's well-preserved technology, they would be unstoppable. She knew the minute she'd left the elevator that his secret room had been untouched by the world above them. Her father was a nuclear physicist and had insulted his lab from the consequences of his research.

Addison would rather see the lab destroyed than let what he built go into the wrong hands again.

Danse understood none of that. He didn't care about her suffering and only chastised her for her choices. What kind of man did that to a woman he cared for? Was he so brainwashed that even…even love wasn't enough to make him see past his duty?

Haylen had warned her about men in the Brotherhood. She had been right, unsurprisingly. Danse _had_ let her down. She thought she could sway him— _reason_ with him—so he'd still want her even after he learned about her dubious loyalty. That's the only reason she'd stayed with the Brotherhood.

It was a lost cause. All of it.

There was a timid knock at her door a few hours after she'd holed up in her room. She did not move or answer at first, just stared down at the tiny puddle her tears had made on the floor.

"Who is it?" she finally said.

"It's Danse." His voice was quiet. "Paladin Danse. Your, um, sponsor." He paused and seemed to lean closer to the door. "Can I come in?"

Addison grit her teeth. "Fine."

The door creaked open slowly, light flooding into the room and making her flinch. Danse carefully stepped inside while she wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve. When he closed the door, the room was dark again, until he flipped on another lamp on the wall.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you-," He weakly gestured with the hand gripping a chunk of bread and a small can.

"Thanks," she said. "I'd hate to not eat before our big mission tomorrow. Are you here to give some lecture on how proper nutrition will make me a better soldier?"

Danse sat down by her desk and put the food there. "That's true, but…" He drummed his fingers against the metal arm of the chair. "I know you're upset with me."

"I'm not," she said softly. "Everything's fine."

"That's not true," he protested. "I've…never seen you so angry before."

Addison let her feet drop completely to the floor. If Danse _really_ wanted to talk, then they'd talk.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "You're not sorry for the choice you made. You cared more about disciplining me for what I did wrong than understanding why or expressing any kind of compassion."

He sighed. "Howard, if things were different-,"

"They're _not_ different," she cut in tersely. "You're in the Brotherhood, and so am I."

His face fell. "That doesn't stop me from…feeling the way I do about you." He all but muttered the words, scraping his finger along a groove in her desk.

"What you _feel_ has no value when it's not reflected in what you do. You always let your duty trump what I need," she said, and tears made their way back to her eyes. "I would never hesitate to put you before the Brotherhood."

"Why would you do that?" he asked hoarsely.

She straightened and let out a frustrated and tearful huff. "Danse, I _like_ you. I care about you. The way you make me feel is ten times better than any sense of goodness or belonging I get from being in the military."

His eyes widened in surprise—which was idiotic because she'd sent him _plenty_ of signals about her feelings. He stood. "I-It's not just about that. It's about _honor_. I made— _you_ made a promise."

She shot to her feet as well. "When you asked me to join the Brotherhood, you weren't asking me to give up every other facet of my life to it. My thoughts and feelings exist outside my duty, and sometimes I put those first." She sighed and turned away from him. "You'll call that selfish."

Danse pushed his hand through his hair. "I don't know what to call it." He made a frustrated sound. "Howard, I had this all figured out before you showed up. My life had very clear goals, and I enjoyed what I was doing."

She frowned. "Well I'm sorry I screwed that up for you."

Danse clenched his fist. "You _did_ screw it up!" he said exasperatedly. "I was perfectly satisfied with my life. Then you appeared and made me so happy that I wondered if I even needed the Brotherhood at all!"

Addison spun around so sharply her boots squeaked on the floor. Her hands dropped to her side, her body totally limp, probably from shock because he had just said something she never thought she would hear.

"Danse-,"

He raised his hands and stepped back. "No, Howard, I didn't-," He pursed his lips, clearly panicking. "I shouldn't have said that. I do need the Brotherhood. I have spent my life dedicated to this cause. We've hardly known each other a year, and to give up all I've worked on for some romantic entanglement that won't even _last_ -,"

"That's not-,"

"I _need_ the Brotherhood in my life," he said with a desperate edge in his voice. "I need direction. I can't give up everything I've built, and that would have to happen if…"

"I know," Addison said softly. She hated that she was giving up, but pushing him would do nothing.

She realized that no matter how elated his words had made her, Danse had feelings for a person who had tricked him. Deceived him and lied. She couldn't ask him to give up the Brotherhood for someone like that.

"What are you saying?" he asked.

She sat back down on her cot. "I don't want you to diminish your commitment to the Brotherhood."

He knelt down. His hand came to rest on the sheets beside her hip. "I don't want _you_ to diminish your commitment, either," he said. "The Brotherhood has to come first."

Addison pushed her hair from her temple. "I understand. I apologize for losing my temper earlier. I…have no right to be angry just because you're priorities aren't…"

 _What I want them to be_ , she thought, but only let the silence punctuate her words instead.

"I know it came across as callous," he remarked.

She shook her head. "I lied to Maxson, and you did what you were supposed to."

Danse was staring at the ground near her feet, his chin almost touching his arm as it sat rested on his knee. She could only see half his face in the darkness: the red, puckered cut on his forehead from their earlier fight, his dark lashes. He'd shaved before he came down to see her.

"That doesn't mean I can't…comfort you now," he murmured. His eyes flicked up to hers before he looked away, already ashamed at his forwardness, but he didn't move.

Addison closed her eyes, and a few tears trickled down her cheeks. That is absolutely _all_ she wanted in the world, but she knew now—for certain—that Danse would never leave the Brotherhood. Not for the person he thought he cared for, and certainly not for the liar she actually was.

"Danse," she whispered. "You should go. You're only making it more difficult."

He swallowed roughly. "Okay," he managed to say. "Okay."

"I just want to move past this," she said. "Since it's something we can't manage."

"You're right," he replied simply. "I'll…go."

Danse was standing a respectable distance away while she stared at her feet. She felt her hair tickling her ear as it moved, and then the rough callouses on Danse's fingers brushing her neck.

Addison lifted her head as the loose strands of her hair slipped through his fingers back against her shoulder. He stared at them, despondent, before he looked at her.

"You…" He sighed. "Goodnight, Howard."

"See you tomorrow," she said, except he left so quickly he only caught her first two words.

Addison buried her face in her hands as soon as he was gone. She hated that their conversation confirmed what she already knew. Danse valued his loyalty to the Brotherhood above all else, no matter how she valued him.

She had wasted in her time in an organization whose goal was hoarding the very technology they railed against. They hated synths and ghouls—anything they didn't understand.

And Danse…no matter how kind and protective and genuine he was to her sometimes, he was still one of them. He would never _not_ be one of them.

Addison let her fingers drag down her face and then hang limply as she rested her elbows on her knees. No matter how difficult it seemed, she knew it was time to leave the Brotherhood—and Danse—behind. If they let her.

It's All Over

Addison and Danse's trip to the Glowing Sea was a lesson in awkward silences. Neither of them seemed to know what to say or how to act. Together, they trudged along through the noxious fog—their only conversation consisted of Danse warning her to be careful while she mildly replied with _okay_ or _yes, Danse._

They did not encounter any death-claws like when they had visited Virgil the first time. It was a stroke of good luck—though, honestly, Addison might have welcomed the distraction from their tense periods of silence.

She felt slightly insulated from the awkwardness in her power armor. The massive metal suit restricted her movement, so she could not turn her head to look at Danse easily. She couldn't even see him out of the corner of her eye. It just made her wonder what he was thinking about.

Sentinel Site Prescott only became visible once they were half a mile away from the entrance—the sickly green clouds hanging over the ground made it hard to see ahead. When they reached the door, Danse finally spoke.

"This looks like the right spot, Howard," he said. "Maxson will be glad we found these."

Addison said nothing—she was _sickened_ that they found them. Nuclear bombs in the Brotherhood's hands would only usher in a new apocalypse.

"We should be careful of ferals inside," she remarked.

"Good thinking."

The outside structure of the storage site did little justice to how massive the complex was. A maze of metal ramps and stairs let down deep into the ground. Only ferals roamed the decrepit and destroyed halls.

Danse led the way to the very bottom of the building, while Addison wrestled with the intense guilt plaguing her every thought. How could she have allowed the Brotherhood access to these bombs? What was she thinking?

Eventually, they came across a giant metal door. Addison's Geiger counter clicked a few times in warning—they were close. She passed Danse to climb a set of concrete stairs to what she hoped was a control room.

She crossed the threshold, but stopped dead upon seeing a figure by a decaying console. She was startled to see a human this deep in a building in the Glowing Sea, but the rags and wrinkles on the man's face told her he was a Child of Atom.

While usually hostile, this man only frowned upon seeing her. He likely did not need to ready himself for battle—in the alcove where he had been standing, there was an Assaultron lying in wait. Not exactly Addison's favorite thing to fight.

"State your purpose, stranger. You walk on Atom's hallowed ground."

Danse's heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs, and he raised his rifle immediately in the doorway. She put her hand out to stop him.

"We are looking for the Mark 28 nuclear bombs," Addison explained.

"You trivialize that which resides here," the man replied. "This place is holy. The Children of Atom have sworn to guard it until the time of the Great Divide. None shall enter."

If only Addison's father were alive to hear this nuclear nonsense. Then maybe he'd have something to complain about other than her.

She smiled wanly. "I'm on your side. I want to help you."

"Atom has no need of help from non-believers," he sneered. "When He returns to us, these relics will carry his Word and his Glory to all corners of the Earth. That is why they must be safeguarded."

Danse shifted behind her. "This man is obviously delusional," he said with disdain. "I recommend we switch tactics."

Addison turned her head to meet his gaze. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not start a gun fight a few hundred feet away from an arsenal of nuclear weapons," she whispered.

She faced the Child of Atom. "I want to spread his glory, too," she insisted. "The…bombs will be used. Isn't that what you want?"

He thought for a moment with his eyes narrowed. "Perhaps then I have misjudged you. If you would see the relics used, then Atom's will is done." He reached into his pocket and handed her a holotape. "Take this and prepare to enter the Inner Sanctum."

Addison felt a breath of relief leave her. "Thank you," she said.

He nodded. "May Atom's radiance warm your soul."

She ignored the disgusted sound Danse made behind her and hurried over to the console that controlled the door. Once she heard the gears squeaking and the sound of metal moving, she headed for the stairs.

Danse followed her. He was shaking his head. "Have you _ever_ failed to persuade someone to do something you wanted them to?"

Addison stopped mid-step because that was an absurd question. She'd failed to persuade _him_ that synths deserved his respect. She'd failed to persuade him that the Brotherhood did not have to be the sole, all-consuming goal of his life. And soon, she'd fail to persuade him that her betrayal was not as bad as it seemed.

She met his gaze with a solemn expression. "Yes," she said simply.

Danse seemed to realize what she was implying and blushed. He clopped down the stairs past her and rounded the railing. His expression changed when he spotted what was beyond the door.

"Wow."

Addison did not have the same reaction. The newly-open room was lit by sparse, harsh light, but the nuclear weapons were still visible. Rows upon rows of them. Her Geiger counter hummed urgently as she walked inside.

She wanted to vomit, and not from the levels of radiation. She couldn't let the Brotherhood have this. It would be insanity. But what could she do?

Danse would not be convinced to violate Maxson's direct orders. And it's not as if she could _force_ him to do anything. He was the good soldier, not her.

"Elder Maxson has ordered me not to take my eyes off these bombs until every one of them has been counted, tested, and loaded," Danse said. "I think it would be best if you returned to the Prydwen."

He pulled the distress beacon given to him by Haylen from his bag. Before he could position it by the bombs, Addison reached out and put her hand on it, panic tightening in her chest.

"Danse, wait. I—I can't let you do this."

He stopped and furrowed his brow. "Do what?"

Addison gestured to the rows of crates. "These weapons should not be put in the Brotherhood's hands. _Anyone's_ hands. They're too dangerous."

Danse shook the beacon so she'd let go. He put it down. "Not again, Howard."

She made an exasperated sound. "Just listen-,"

He spun on his heel to face her with an annoyed expression. "No, _you_ listen," he snapped. "We were given orders from Elder Maxson. You don't get to question them."

"Danse, you can't possibly view authority that way," she said. "We've got to have some autonomy. I know better than anyone else what it would mean to give these to Liberty Prime."

"Our goal is noble," he insisted. "The Institute needs to be destroyed."

"Maxson's methods are incompatible with what the Brotherhood preaches about technology," she replied. "It's not fair to use it to make sure no one else does."

Danse frowned—he was at the end of his rope in regards to lecturing her, it seemed. "The Institute manufactures _abominations_. If this is the only way they can be stopped, then it must be done."

Addison let her arms flops to her side. "This is insane," she began. "Can't you see that?"

Danse stepped closer to her. "Knight, I won't allow this insubordination any longer," he said sternly. "You have toed the line _far_ too often. I have done my damnedest to keep you on the straight and narrow, but you won't listen to me."

"Why are my opinions only evidence of insubordination to you?" she asked.

He exhaled sharply. "This is my fault. I was too lenient with you before because of my…because of how I once felt. I let you say things no other Paladin would." He shook his head. "I can't let our friendship spoil you as a Brotherhood soldier. You will stop this resistance to Maxson's plans."

Addison felt as if a two ton boulder had dropped in her stomach. She couldn't continue this—fighting with Danse over his principles that weren't going to change. It was a fruitless endeavor, just like her membership to the Brotherhood of Steel.

"Howard, talk to me," Danse ordered, brow puckered. He was worried. He had damn good reason to be.

She met his gaze with a level stare while her insides squirmed. "I don't want to be in the Brotherhood anymore."

"What?" he began incredulously.

She exhaled in defeat. "This isn't my place, Danse. What you preach isn't what I believe."

He shifted, his armor clanking. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "You—you're loyal, I know you are. Everything you've done-,"

"Got me closer to finding my son."

Danse shook his head. "You helped locate these bombs even after we found Shaun!"

Addison wanted to crumple inward from guilt, disappear into a million scattered pieces, but that wouldn't be fair to Danse. He deserved to know what she'd done. Then maybe he would agree that she no longer belonged in the Brotherhood.

Despite her conviction, she did not find it so easy to _speak_ those words. They were trapped in a thorny tangle in her throat—held back by fear, guilt, a million other emotions.

She turned away from him and retreated to the original room outside the bomb storage area.

Danse's heavy footsteps followed her. "Howard, _what is it_?" he demanded.

The words dislodged themselves, and tears welled up in her eyes.

"I tricked you, okay?" she said abruptly. "I told you where the bombs were because I needed your help getting into my father's lab."

"What are you saying?" he asked. "What were you really looking for?"

She flexed her fingers in her gloves because they felt numb. Any second Danse would dissolve into a fit of anger because she had _betrayed_ him. In the worst way.

Addison crossed the room to the other concrete staircase.

"Stop walking away from me," Danse snapped—he knew by now _something_ was wrong. There was fear in his eyes and in the tight set of his jaw.

"I don't want to tell you the truth," she whispered.

More dread sank his brow low over his eyes. His voice was weakened now too.

"H-Howard…"

"The Railroad, Danse," she said, finally turning to him. "I was helping the Railroad."

Danse let one foot slide back, separating himself from his disbelief. His face tightened, anger soon evident in the curl of his mouth. "What did you do for them?" he demanded.

Addison let her gaze drop to the floor. "I helped the synths escape at Bunker Hill, and I went to my father's lab to get an admin password that will help free more synths at the Institute."

Something crashed hard into the ground at their feet, startling her. Her neck snapped up and—she did not know what to make of Danse's face. The anger, hurt, sadness. He'd thrown down his laser rifle, and then turned from her to the stair railing. He wrapped his hands tight around the iron bar while his head dropped.

"I-I have friends that are synths," she stammered. "I believe that they should be treated-,"

"Why the _fuck_ did you bother staying?" he demanded, voice ragged and loud. He spun back to her with an angry glint in his eyes.

Addison swallowed. "I stayed for what we had," she explained shakily. "I thought I could convince you to see my side of things. It was stupid."

"After everything the Brotherhood gave you, how could you do this?" he asked hoarsely.

"All I've ever done in the Commonwealth is what I think is right," she said. "I should have been more honest with you, but I didn't think I could be."

"No, Howard, this is the same _shit_ you always pull," he snapped with a scowl. "You're a coward. You're _weak_. You're too afraid to stand up for yourself so you just hurt people and _lie_. It's the same fucking thing you did to your dead husband."

Her tears welled up and then escaped, warm on her face already burning from guilt. She was in her power armor, so she could not wipe them away with her hands.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Danse's own chin was trembling. "I should have you arrested," he said. "I should have you brought up on _charges_."

"I know you're angry-,"

"Damn right, I'm angry!" he interjected tersely. "I trusted you with my _life_ , Howard. I have never felt so close to someone before, not even Cutler, and it turns out the person I cared for doesn't even _exist_."

She took a tentative step closer. "Danse, if I had told you how I truly feel about synths, you would have never spoken to me again. You aren't open-minded about-,"

"Synths are _monstrosities_!" he exclaimed. "There's nothing to be open-minded about."

Addison inhaled a shaky, tearful breath. If she didn't keep breathing, she'd collapse in a sobbing mess. "You will never know how much I regret lying. Being with you made me so happy, and I just…didn't want to give it up."

"What is your plan now?" he demanded. "You think you can just leave? What am I supposed to tell Maxson?"

Addison shook her head. "Tell him the truth, if you want. I…just want to be done with the Brotherhood."

"It's not that simple."

She refused to back down this time. "Danse, this is what I want. You won't convince me otherwise. I'm leaving, and you can't stop me."

"What makes you think that?" he snapped.

"Maxson gave you orders to stay here with the bombs," she said. "If you follow me, you'd be disobeying a direct order. I know how much you hate doing that."

Danse looked sickened. "You picked a convenient time for this conversation then, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry, Danse," she repeated, though the words hardly made it out.

"You-," He stopped and clenched his fist. Rather than finish his sentence, he faced the bombs, retreating towards them with his shoulders hunched. He was overwhelmed, and his instinct was to flee—to allow himself to process and strategize and come to a logical conclusion about her. She did not want to know what that conclusion was.

Addison could not force herself to leave at first, but she knew she had to. She could not calm Danse with her charm or charisma. This was something her polite words would never fix.

His anger was proof that she'd lost him forever. Proof that she never should have let herself feel anything for him in the first place. He cared for _Howard_ , the loyal and pliable Brotherhood soldier—not the real Addison, whose beliefs were more complicated than his organization allowed.

The fact that Danse was going to stay with the bombs was not a full solution to her problem. He'd come after her. Or someone in the Brotherhood would.

She was uneasy because she had no idea what Danse would do—tell Maxson and bring the Brotherhood down on her with a vengeance? Or let her quietly slip away and nurse his wounds alone?

She wanted to speak to him more, but he had disappeared deep into the rows of crates and was shrouded in darkness. She almost burst into louder sobs right then because despite how terrible their conversation had been, despite how _over_ everything was, she felt a twinge of worry for him thinking about how much radiation he was being exposed to.

Addison secured her helmet on her head. Her vision was already blurry and trying to see through her power armor visor only made it worse. Still, she found the elevator to the surface and took it up alone.

She readied her pistol before she burst back outside into the toxic wasteland she inhabited now, leaving Danse behind in every sense of the word.

Addison did not return to Sanctuary after she left Danse in the Glowing Sea. She knew that was the first place he would look for her, so she headed for Diamond City instead. Piper was there, pushing her latest issue of _Pulick Occurrences_.

Addison did what she could that first day to help her friends she in Diamond City. She also stocked up on supplies since she'd traveling without Danse at her side from now on. In the evening, she went to Takahashi's noodle stand to find some food.

Her appetite had disappeared since leaving the Sentinel Site, so she merely stirred her noodles in their murky, steamy broth with her cheek rested against her palm.

The stool beside her creaked, but she didn't lift her head to see who it was.

"Takahashi, thank you for meeting me here," the person said in a half-whisper. It was Piper's voice, and Addison turned her chin slightly to watch her.

Taka ambled over to them and spit out the only phrase he knew. "Na-ni shimasho-ka?"

Piper gasped. "No!" she began. "But we've been traveling together for ages!"

"Na-ni shimasho-ka?"

Piper faced Addison on her stool with a grin. "Sorry, Blue," she said. "My confidential informant here has spilled the beans. The jig is up. Web of lies, gone. I mean, I bet your name's not even Blue, is it?"

Addison might have thought that was a funny bit if that wasn't exactly what had happened to her a day ago. She lifted her head and tried to smile.

Piper put her elbows on the counter. "Man, and here I thought that would cheer you up."

She furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

"You just seem-," Her gloved hand gestured up and down at her. "Kind of _down_ lately."

Down was an understatement. Her guilt had turned to despair, and it plagued her every thought. Each second was a reminder of how badly she'd screwed things up. Worse, she'd never see Danse again.

She stared down at her bowl. "I quit the Brotherhood."

"Oh," Piper said. "Is that…something you can really _do_? Quit, I mean."

Addison shrugged. "I don't know. They won't want me after Danse tells them…" Her words evaporated in a heavy sigh.

"So, I guess the conversation with the tin can didn't go well?" Piper asked.

"That's an understatement," she replied, the heel of her palm pressed to her temple. "He was furious."

Piper fiddled with the ragged sleeve of her red jacket. "He's tied up into the Brotherhood pretty tight then?"

She swallowed. "Yeah. He'll never leave. For anything."

"For what it's worth, he seemed to really like you," she said.

"Not anymore," Addison muttered back.

Piper put her hand on her shoulder. "I know it seems bad now, but I'm here for you, and the others are too."

She smiled slightly. "Thanks, Piper."

Addison heard a familiar sound from the corner of Taka's noodle stand—the clack of metal footsteps. _Heavy_ , a sound that only power armor made.

Her hand flew to the pistol at her side as she and Piper both turned. Two Brotherhood soldiers were walking down the narrow corridor towards them, laser rifles visible.

Piper pushed the front of her coat back. "What do you think the chances are those guys are _not_ here for you?"

Addison slid off the stool to her feet. "Very slim."

Neither one of the soldiers was Danse. Even in his power armor, she knew him and the way he walked. These were strangers, and she wondered what they wanted. The people milling around Diamond City jumped aside as they tried to push through the crowds.

Addison didn't speak at first—she wanted to let the two soldiers set the tone for their conversation.

"Knight Howard," one said.

She paused and tried to iron out the wrinkle in her brow. They had called her _Knight_. She had expected them to threaten her, try to scoop her up into custody because Danse had told Maxson about her betrayal.

"Hi," she said awkwardly. "Can I…help you?"

The soldier gestured backwards. "Elder Maxson gave us orders to find you. He has summoned you to the Prydwen. Immediately."

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"We were not given any details," he replied. "We have a Vertibird waiting outside Diamond City for you."

Addison looked over at Piper. She wasn't sure what to do—was it safe to just walk onto the Prydwen after all she'd said to Danse?

"Alright," she eventually said. "I'll come now."

Piper leaned towards her. "You…will?"

"I'll be fine," Addison assured her. She could not predict exactly what Danse would do with what she told him, but she knew he would never hurt her. Or let anyone _else_ hurt her.

She followed behind the two soldiers after giving Piper a weak wave. Her breath left her in a shaky exhale. The fear was real now. There was no running from it. The consequences of her actions would extend beyond her tense conversation with Danse—the Brotherhood cared too, and they cleared weren't happy about her choices.

Addison was flown straight to the Prydwen in silence. She did not want to needle the two soldiers sent to escort her. She did not know them or want to get herself in more trouble.

They disembarked and headed down the strip of metal to the door. She was still being flanked by her escorts, but she could see the other soldiers around her clustered together, whispering.

She slid through the door to the command deck. She had her eyes set on Maxson before a hand shot out from behind her and clamped down on her arm.

Addison reeled backwards, then turned until she was face to face with Haylen.

"They don't know," Haylen hissed. Her grip on Addison's arm was so tight her knuckles were white.

"Don't know what?" Addison asked in a whisper.

"Danse didn't tell them about the Glowing Sea," she explained. " _Why_ you left."

Her brow rose in surprise. She had expected Danse to go running to Maxson the first chance he got. "So what is this-,"

"Knight."

The soldier standing by Maxson's door gestured with his arm so she'd hurry. Haylen let go of her. "Whatever you do, just act surprised," she whispered.

"Act-?"

Haylen had disappeared before Addison could ask what she was supposed to act surprised _about_. There was obviously something wrong—Haylen's eyes had been bloodshot, her face a sheet of white. The Prydwen seemed more tense than it had ever been.

Addison walked into Maxson's room—he was by the windows, looking through them with his characteristic scowl. He faced her with his hands behind his back.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Knight?" he asked harshly.

Addison resisted the urge to take a step back. Haylen promised that Danse had said nothing to Maxson about the Glowing Sea. Was she wrong? Or lying?

"What could I possibly have to say?" she asked.

"Do not avoid my question," he snapped. "Proctor Quinlan completed the encryption of the data you retrieved from the Institute. A portion of his findings included a list of synths who went missing or escaped from their underground facility. After careful analysis of the information, we discovered something…unprecedented." He clenched his jaw, though she could hardly see that under all his facial hair.

"A _synth_ has infiltrated our ranks," he spat.

Addison's shoulders lost some of their tension— _that_ was not a problem she was expecting, but it was better than being accused of being a traitor.

"I'm not a synth," she said. "I came from a Vault, you know that."

"I know it's not you," Maxson replied sharply. "Paladin Danse is a perfect match for one of the synths on that list."

Addison could not process what he was saying—she probably looked like an idiot with her mouth ajar and her brow furrowed deeply.

Danse? A _synth_? The idea was almost…laughable.

She shook her head. "There must be some kind of mistake."

Maxson frowned. "I'm afraid not. The evidence is quite damning."

"I'm telling you it's _impossible_ ," she insisted. "Danse-,"

"We have DNA evidence, Howard," he interjected with an angry wave of his hand. "The data you found included a record of each subject's DNA. We keep the same information for all our soldiers. Paladin Danse's DNA is a perfect match for a synth they called M7-97."

Addison clenched her fists tightly, almost angry. To think she and Danse had fought so vehemently over synths to find out that he _was_ one. Did he know? Had he dragged her through those unpleasant conversations just to protect his cover?

"Where is Danse now?" she asked. Her concern for him trumped all her other feelings at the moment.

"He's gone AWOL," Maxson said. "Disappeared without a trace. His sudden absence simply reinforces our conclusion that M7-97 and Paladin Danse are one in the same."

"That's not necessarily true," Addison protested. "He's probably just frightened. He might have fled out of fear."

Maxson stepped closer to her. "Given his fondness for you, I'm finding it difficult to believe that he never confided in you and then swore you to secrecy."

The heat in the room prickled Addison's skin, and this time she did step back. " _Nothing_ ever happened between Danse and I," she said firmly. "And he never told me he was a synth, I swear."

"Why should I believe you?" he demanded.

"Because I'm telling the _truth_ ," she snapped back. "I have done so much for the Brotherhood since I joined and to accuse me of wrongdoing with no _proof_ is flagrantly disrespectful."

"Danse vouched for your loyalty, but _he_ clearly could not be trusted," Maxson replied.

Addison clenched her jaw. She _needed_ Maxson to still believe in her, even if only for a few moments. "I'm not a synth. I have given the Brotherhood the edge that will allow it to destroy the Brotherhood. Something you wouldn't have without me."

Maxson pointed at her. "I will take you at your word, but only so long as we continue to receive your help."

"What do you want?" she asked wearily.

"You have a duty now," he replied. "Danse is a synth. A monstrosity of technology. He represents everything we hate." He clenched his fist. "Our mission in the Commonwealth is clear. The Institute and its creations need to be destroyed in order to preserve our future."

His mouth tightened, lips white. She'd never seen him so tense before. "Which leaves me facing the most difficult order I've ever given." He met her eyes with his steely gaze. "Hunt down Danse and execute him."

Addison's immediate, visceral reaction was to blurt out _no_. It was such an absurd proposition. Danse did not deserve to die just because he was a synth, and the fact that Maxson—his _friend_ —wanted that was sickening.

"Danse deserves a chance to explain himself," she said.

Maxson lurched forward. "You will do it," he growled. "This is not up for judgment or debate! I'm giving you a direct order, and I expect you to follow it _without_ _question_."

Addison quickly shut her mouth. If she protested further, Maxson would find someone _else_ to kill Danse. Another mindless Brotherhood soldier who would gladly pull the trigger on their fellow comrade. She grit her teeth and glared at him.

"Yes, Elder."

He exhaled sharply. "I'm not blind to the fact that Danse was your mentor, and this isn't an easy burden to bear." He held his hand out. "But if we're to remain strong, we can't afford to make exceptions. Even if it means executing one of our own."

Maxson's perception of _strength_ was not one she would consider fair or logical, but she just nodded curtly in response. For once, it was taking everything she had not to shout at him and let him hear _exactly_ how she felt about his orders.

Maxson turned away from her and his shoulders dropped. She did not feel an ounce of sympathy for him, even if he was struggling with his decision. He'd made it, and worst of all, he was asking _her_ to do the dirty work.

"Find Proctor Quinlan," he said. "He's been analyzing the data and should be able to provide you with a starting point."

"Yes, Elder Maxson," she replied, and then she marched out of the room, her blood pulsing loud in her ears.

She stopped outside the door and crossed her arms over her chest—all around her, she was being watched, so she could not bury her face in her hands like she wanted.

Danse being a synth—it was _unthinkable_. It defied every convention of logic and sense and she didn't know what to _do_ about it. She was not going to hurt Danse, but how was she supposed to address the issue? How was she supposed to find him at all?

She climbed down to the lower deck, intending to find Quinlan, but as soon as her feet hit the ground, a greenish blur rushed over to her. A hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her around.

Haylen was glaring at her, mouth pursed angrily. She had obviously heard the rumors about Danse.

"I can't believe after everything Paladin Danse did for you, you're just going to turn your back on him like this!"

Addison pulled her closer and then dragged them both to the other side of the ladder, away from prying eyes. "Calm down," she ordered. "You shouldn't accuse me of anything before you know what happened."

Haylen scowled. "There's obviously been a mistake, and we need to get to the bottom of it."

She sighed. "There hasn't been a mistake, Haylen. Maxson has DNA evidence. I—I can't believe it either."

"Do you really plan on killing him?" she asked, releasing her tight grip.

"I can't safely answer that question here," Addison replied, aware of the loud claps of power armor boots all around them.

"Howard, _please_ ," Haylen begged. "I've known Paladin Danse ever since I was an Initiate. He is the most selfless person I've ever met. I've seen him risk his own life on nothing more than principle alone."

"Haylen-,"

She continued, desperation plain on her face. "He's earned my admiration, my respect, and my friendship. I don't care what Quinlan's report says. I don't care if he's a machine or not—he's still _Danse_."

"I know, Haylen. I-," She cleared her throat. "I feel the same way."

Her shoulders fell slightly. "So you won't…?"

"Of course not, Haylen," she replied gently.

"Oh—oh, thank god. I was so worried. I thought-," Her eyes darted away. "I knew you were angry at Danse and that…."

"Even if I was angry, I would never _kill_ him," she said firmly. "I've spared much worse men than Danse."

"What about Maxson?" Haylen asked.

Addison looked over her shoulder. "I'll think of something—hiding him away, maybe."

"But Danse…" She shook her head. "Who knows what he's thinking right now?"

"That he's the enemy, probably," she answered, the crinkle in her brow deepening with worry.

Haylen touched her arm again. "You have to help him, Addison. You're the only person that can. He—he cared about you _so_ much."

Addison flushed red. Danse might have cared about her before, but not _now_.

"I'll do what I can. But he's never listened to me when it comes to the Brotherhood. If Maxson wants him dead, that's probably what he'll want to."

"You can't give up on him," Haylen insisted. "Please."

Addison folded her arms over her chest. "I won't," she said. "Are you going to explain why you tracked me down before I met with Maxson?"

"I heard the rumors about Danse from— _everyone_. It came out as soon as he returned to the Prydwen," she explained. "On our way up here, Danse…told me what happened between you two. He wanted to find you. I didn't want you to assume that he'd told Maxson. I wanted Maxson to still trust you."

"That was smart," Addison said. "I…thought Danse would run to Maxson as soon as he left the bombs."

Haylen shifted awkwardly. "I don't think he wanted to believe you'd done…all the things you said."

Addison ran her hand through her hair. "I suppose he's not worried about that now." She let her arm drop to her side. "God, how am I supposed to find him? I've hardly lived in the Commonwealth a year."

"I think I can help," Haylen said. "Before the Prydwen showed up, Danse had me identify a fallback point if we ever lost the police station. It was Listening Post Bravo, on the northern frontier of the Commonwealth. It's isolated, and we're the only ones who knew about it, so there's a good chance that's where he's headed."

Addison was glad for the help, but maybe dreading it—if she found Danse quickly, what was she supposed to _say_?

"Thanks, Haylen."

"I should be the one thanking you," she said. "I don't know if any other Brotherhood soldier would have given him a chance to tell his story."

"I'm not much of a Brotherhood soldier, so maybe that's why," Addison replied with a soft snort. She looked over her shoulder again. "I should head out before someone sees us."

"Be careful," Haylen said. Then she turned for the hallway and disappeared into the bowels of the ship.

Addison nervously clenched her hands at her side—her heart had not stopped its frantic beating. Each second that passed, Danse was out there in the Commonwealth, _alone_. Everything had been taken from him—his beliefs, his job, his identity.

She'd only added to that pain because _before_ this mess had even started, she'd left him to face his demons alone.

Why Do I Love A Guy I Ought to Shoot?

Listening Point Bravo was a base hidden away east of Sanctuary—Addison knew where it was from her days before the war. It was a good strategic retreat, so of course Danse had picked it. Or at least she _hoped_ he'd picked it. For all she knew, he had already left the Commonwealth completely, and she would never see him again.

Addison did not head straight to the bunker when she left the Prydwen. Maxson had followed her once before, so she returned to Sanctuary first. Plus, Dogmeat had always been a comforting presence to her during trying times. She had no intention of bringing any of her other companions along with her while searching for Danse, but she needed _some_ company.

Addison and Dogmeat headed out to Listening Point Bravo near the end of the day. She moved faster than usual—long strides in the long grass, where she ignored the danger around her. Getting to Danse was her only priority. She had no idea what his mindset was, or what he might do knowing he was a synth.

The military base was deserted when she arrived, tucked away in a hill. Danse would reprimand her for her tactics approaching the front door—she did not stop, or crouch, or survey the area for hostiles. Her pistol stayed tucked into her belt, and she pushed open the door to an incredibly small room.

Disappointment filled her at first because Danse was not there. Only a skeleton, a desk, and a few empty file cabinets remained. When she spotted an elevator, her hope was restored—though it came with dread, too, because she might actually _find_ Danse and have to know what to say. She quickly jumped inside with Dogmeat, heart beating loud in her ears.

The elevator doors slid open after a few moments, and Addison hesitated at the threshold to the new room. She could not hear anything from inside the dimly lit basement, but as soon as she stepped out, she spotted Danse.

His orange Brotherhood jumpsuit stuck out in the blue-gray tones all around him. His posture no longer had the same rigidity from before. His shoulders were slumped, and when he heard her footsteps, he turned, though his expression did not change. There was no surprise at seeing her. Not any emotion. His brows were drawn together and every line in his face was a stroke of utter despair.

"I'm not surprised to see you," he said simply.

Addison took a few steps closer. Dogmeat's paws clicked against the concrete as he followed her. She finally broke the taunt silence between them once she could see him more clearly.

"Danse…you didn't tell me," she whispered. "We went through _so_ much, and you didn't…"

"I might have told you, if I had known what I was," he replied with a hollow tone.

Addison's brow rose. "You didn't know you were a synth?"

Danse inhaled a long breath and studied the cracked concrete wall beside him. "Until Quinlan got that list decoded, I thought synths were the enemy. I never expected to hear that I was one of them."

She made her way closer to him—the intensity of her desire to touch him, to comfort him, was almost blinding. It was all she could think to do, but it probably wasn't what he wanted.

"Danse-,"

His voice rose as he paced. "I _remember_ being a child. I remember growing up in the ruins. Everything." He stopped, and his throat tightened. "They... _programmed_ it all into my head."

"Not all your memories are like that," she said softly.

He frowned. "It's enough that some of them are. It's enough that I have _never_ been in control of my life or decided my own fate. I-," His breath escaped through his clenched teeth in a hiss. "Why does this matter to you? I know Maxson sent you here to do his dirty work."

Addison closed the space between them, enough that she could see the bloodshot veins in his eyes. "As you're well aware, I've never been good at doing his work."

His gaze was downcast, voice hoarse again. "Does Maxson even want me alive?"

She hesitated, then rested some of her fingers on his arm. He immediately flinched, and she pulled away. Her words would have to be the only comfort she gave, as inadequate as that felt.

"What Maxson wants doesn't matter."

"It _does_ matter," Danse said sharply. "He's trying to do what's best for the Brotherhood."

"Killing you isn't best for the Brotherhood!" Addison protested. "You are a good soldier."

His chest expanded—he was towering over her more than usual. "Follow his orders, Howard. If you betray them, you're not only betraying Maxson, you're betraying the Brotherhood of Steel and everything it stands for."

She scowled. "Then the Brotherhood needs to stand for something _better._ It's disgusting they would turn their back on you like this."

Danse's eyes hardened. "Synths can't be trusted," he said. "Machines were never meant to make their own decisions. They need to be controlled."

"Synths are sentient beings just like humans," Addison replied. "They deserve freedom."

He threw his hand out. "The problem with synths is that they _are_ sentient. Technology ran amuck, and they were allowed to exist. The Institute's work will bring the entire world to its knees and humanity to the brink of extinction _again_."

She shook her head. "It's not the technology, Danse. It's the _men_. They destroyed humanity-," She ran her hand through her hair. "My father destroyed the world while I stood idly by, but in the right hands, technology could-,"

"The Institute is not the right set of hands," Danse said. "They create abominations that shouldn't exist. Like me."

Her eyes began to sting—tears welling up where they'd already been on her way over. Danse was being more obstinate than she expected. Like a dutiful Brotherhood soldier, he was trying to sacrifice his life based on principle alone.

"If you really feel that way, why did you run in the first place?" she asked wearily.

Danse sighed. "The moment I heard the truth, I knew my life was in danger. I'm a soldier, so self-preservation kicked in. I needed to regroup and assess the situation. Once I got here, and I had some time to think, I realized I'd just made everything worse." He pursed his lips until they were white. "I should have stayed on the Prydwen and accepted the inevitable."

Addison gestured with her palms facing the ceiling. "The empathy you're showing me is a _human_ emotion-,"

He raised his hand to stop her. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I've made my decision."

An incredulous sound left her. "What—what _decision_? That you need to die?"

He nodded. "Yes. Don't let your feelings about me cloud your judgment."

A few tears broke free and rolled down her face. "God, Danse, I'm not going to follow Maxson's orders!"

"I know this must be very difficult for you," he said softly. "But-,"

"I-It's not difficult," she interrupted. "I'm not going to kill you."

He met her gaze, and her desperation was not reflected in his eyes. The sadness was there, but he was steady, unyielding. He had made his choice.

"I need to be destroyed."

She grit her teeth. "You're wrong. You deserve to _live_."

Danse swallowed and shifted on his feet. "If you refuse to carry out your orders, I will do it for you."

Addison's shaky grip on her composure shattered, and panic set in like fire down her spine. Nothing she said was convincing Danse to stop this madness. He wanted her to follow Maxson's orders so badly he was willing to kill _himself_ to do it.

"Danse, _please_ ," she begged. "You don't have to do this."

He stepped closer. "I'm doing this for you, too," he said. "If you fail this mission, Maxson will suspect you of wrongdoing. He already does. When he finds out all you've done, he'll hurt you. Imprison you." His face softened. "If you kill me, he won't have reason to do that."

"That's not what I want," she whispered, her chin wobbling. "I would gladly risk my reputation, my life, _anything_ to keep you alive. You know that."

"Your feelings about me don't change that I'm a synth," he said. "I'm not blind to the fact that we were-," He stopped, jaw clenched tight. "It doesn't matter now. It was all a sham. I'm a _machine_. I need to perish just like every other synth the Institute created."

Her stomach flipped—a nauseous stab to her gut because she realized in complete and utter horror that Danse was not changing his mind. He genuinely believed this was what he deserved. The best course of action. _She_ had failed to prove that he was valuable enough to stay alive.

Addison's tears made his face blurry. "To me, it doesn't matter what you are," she said in a small voice.

Danse was silent, then looked away. "You won't change my mind," he replied. "I'm sorry, but this must be done. By you or me."

She tried to compose herself, drinking in a slow breath of the warm, stale air around them. Her eyes rose to his—her disappointment with herself morphed into frustration with him and how fruitless her efforts had been.

Danse was going to die, not because of Maxson, but because of _himself_. And her. The failure of her words to show him what was right.

"If you want to die for Maxson, _fine_ ," she said, voice shrill and rising. "Die so you can be some miserable _fucking_ lackey for the Brotherhood…" She threw her arm out, hand shaking. "I won't have any part of it."

Though it was hard, and her feet felt like lead, she turned from him to the elevator. She reached it and stared down at the dented metal floor a few inches from her toes. Dogmeat whimpered from beside her, ears flat on his head, but she just waved him along.

She rested her hand against the frame of the elevator.

"I have already lost every _single_ person I've ever cared about," she said tearfully. "Why not you too?"

Caring for Danse had been a bad idea from the start—he was only a man as far as his principles allowed. The Brotherhood wanted him dead, so that's what he would do, no matter how much it hurt her. No matter how _stupid_ it was.

"Addison."

She stopped and lifted her head, hair sliding back from her face. Danse had never called her that—she wondered how he even remembered her first name.

She looked over her shoulder at him—too much hope was growing too quickly in her chest. Danse would not let go of his beliefs easily, even though he'd stopped her from leaving.

His brow was furrowed. "Why…" He sighed. "Why are you so upset?"

Addison wanted to laugh harshly at the absurdity of his question. Instead, she faced him with a sad smile. "I care about you," she said. "More than the Brotherhood. More than anyone else in the Commonwealth. Losing you would hurt me just as badly as losing my family."

He hesitated. "But after the Glowing Sea…"

She wiped the heel of her palm across her cheek. "I betrayed the Brotherhood. I lied to you because you were _in_ the Brotherhood. That was wrong, but I did it because I cared about you so much I didn't want to lose you. I wanted you to leave _with_ me, so we could…" She trailed off—what did it matter now?

Danse searched her face for a few moments before he abruptly turned. He leaned against the hole in the wall leading to the other room, his hands rested on broken concrete.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said hoarsely.

Addison slowly made her way over to him. "You can die for your principles," she said. "But your death would deeply affect many people. Me, especially. And Haylen. She's been so worried for you."

He let out a shaky breath. "I hadn't considered that…"

She wanted to cling to him, nails digging into his jumpsuit, and beg him to consider it even _more_. Her heart thrummed in her chest, alive at the prospect that maybe she wouldn't lose him.

"I lied to you, and for that, my feelings probably shouldn't matter," she murmured. "But they are still there. And strong. Intense. I—wouldn't know how to carry on without you."

He slowly straightened. She was close enough that she could see his eyes barely glistening in the harsh basement light. "Do you mean that?" he asked weakly. "Even though I'm…"

" _Yes_ , Danse," she replied.

Finally, an emotion other than stoic sadness flashed across his face—she saw panic, and a tremble in his tightly pressed lips.

He leaned forward slightly, and in the next second, his arms were around her in a vice-like grip. She was pulled onto her toes, surrounded by his firm chest and broad shoulders.

Addison jumped at the chance to embrace him, sliding one hand up his neck to the coarse hair on the back of his head. She nestled her face in his neck.

"It's okay, Danse," she whispered. "It's okay."

She only noticed it from holding him so close, but Danse was trembling. His large palms tightened their grip—he was squeezing all the air from her lungs, but she didn't stop him. She would never understand how he felt, but maybe he wanted to hold her close because she was _real_.

"I'm so…" He buried his face in her hair. "I feel so lost."

She squeezed him back. "You might not know what's real about you or your memories, but…" She leaned back to look at him. "But _this_ , right here, is real. I care about you, synth or no."

Addison ran her hand back down his hair to his face, but he was wiggling away.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

She held onto his arms before they completely separated. "Don't. I want to help. Whatever it takes."

He sighed. "I wasn't thinking about how much my death would affect my friends. I was only…thinking about the Brotherhood."

"I can't imagine how you're feeling right now," Addison said. "But I want to be here for you, and there is _no_ reason that you have to die."

His jaw tensed. "Maxson thinks there's a reason," he replied. "I won't be safe here for long."

"We can go back to Sanctuary," she said. "You'll be-,"

He shook his head. "I should leave the Commonwealth. The sooner I can put this behind me, the better."

Panic flooded her thoughts again in all too familiar places. "Danse, no," she said quickly. "You don't have to do that. There _must_ be another way."

"I have my own path to follow," he replied solemnly. "And if you remain in the Brotherhood, we can't be seen together."

"I already quit the Brotherhood," she said. "And I'm not going back now that Maxson thinks its appropriate to execute one of his own."

Danse reached into his pocket. "Whatever you do, you need proof you followed his orders. Maxson will just send someone else to track me down if you don't." He held out his holotags. "Take these."

Addison reluctantly took the tags. The metal was cold in her hands. "This is the last thing I will do for the Brotherhood."

"I wish you would reconsider," he remarked gently. "Destroying the Institute is a noble goal."

She gave a frustrated huff. "Don't stand up for the Brotherhood after what they did to you."

"What they did?" he began. "You mean following their principles without exception? Like we were all taught?"

"It's not that simple," Addison insisted.

Danse sighed. "I can't force you to stay in the Brotherhood. I suppose I can only ask you to do what you think is right."

She touched his hand. "Saving you was right. I know that."

He stared at her fingers before he separated from her and straightened. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Addison only nodded, and they both headed for the elevator, Dogmeat behind them. As they rode up in silence, she heard a shaky breath leave Danse in the darkness. It brushed her neck and made her shiver. His sadness was still there, hovering over him. She knew how he fretted, and she couldn't imagine how fast his thoughts were racing now. _Synth_ was something he wouldn't see past for a long time.

When they reached the surface, Addison heard the whoosh of rotors from outside. She jumped out in front of Danse and hurried to the front door.

Maxson was standing just outside the halo of light cast by the lamp beside the base. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes narrowed over his thick brow. He had followed her. _Again_. She apparently did not seem very trustworthy to him.

"How _dare_ you betray the Brotherhood!" he exclaimed angrily.

Addison's hand flew to her pistol, and she pulled it from her belt without thinking. Dogmeat growled from her feet.

"It's not her fault, Maxson," Danse said, voice booming beside her. "It's mine."

His furious gaze fell on Danse. "I'll deal with you in a moment."

Addison moved so she was standing between the two of them. Maxson stepped closer.

"Knight," he snapped. "Why has—has this _thing_ not been destroyed?"

Anger pricked her skin at his tone. Danse was fragile enough as it was. Maxson had no right to speak so derisively.

"Why are you here?" she demanded.

"When I sent you to kill this machine, I suspected you would have difficulty following my orders," he replied. "Now that I've arrived, it appears my instincts were correct."

Addison scowled, despite her attempts to keep her anger at bay. She needed to negotiate with Maxson and keep Danse convinced that he deserved to live. That would not be accomplished by shouting.

"We don't have to kill Danse," she said. "He has been a loyal soldier to you from the beginning, and there are other ways out of this."

"What did it say to you to make you betray the Brotherhood?" Maxson asked hotly. "Whatever sentimental feelings it has for you are _fabricated_! You cannot care for a machine!"

"You're wrong about him," she protested. "You don't understand synths."

" _Him_?" Maxson spat. "Danse isn't a man, it's a machine. An automaton created by the Institute. It wasn't born from the womb of a loving mother. It was grown in the cold confines of a laboratory."

"I wasn't born from the womb of a _loving_ mother either," she snapped back. "That isn't what makes someone _human_."

Maxson held out his hands. "Flesh is flesh. Machine is machine. The two were never meant to intertwine. By attempting to play God, the Institute has corrupted human life beyond measure."

Danse spoke before she could. She was surprised by the firmness and clarity in his voice.

"After all that I've done for the Brotherhood—after all the blood I've spilled in our name—how could you say that about me?" he asked.

Maxson turned to address him, disgust plain on his face. "You're the physical embodiment of what we hate most. Technology gone too far."

He gestured behind him. "Look around you, Danse. Look at the scorched Earth and the bones that litter the Wasteland. Millions—perhaps even billions died because technology outpaced man's restraint. They called it a "new frontier" and "pushing the envelope," completely disregarding the repercussions!"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Addison interjected—Maxson hadn't been there at the end of the world like she had. The Brotherhood co-opted this apocalyptic narrative to suit their own purposes, to push their principles.

Maxson threw his arm sharply out towards Danse. "You are a single bomb in an arsenal of thousands preparing to lay waste to what's left of mankind."

Addison clenched her fist. Maxson was undoing all her work convincing Danse to save himself. If Maxson had to die to be stopped, she would do it. She _would_.

"If you're comparing Danse to a nuclear bomb, you clearly don't know much about science," Addison sneered.

"It might not be a bomb, but it has the same purpose," he insisted. "How can you trust the word of a machine that _thinks_ its alive?"

He crept closer to her, voice rising. "That _thing_ had its mind erased, its thoughts programmed, its very _soul_ manufactured."

Addison thought about lifting her pistol—damn the stories about what a good combatant Maxson was. She would take him on. She was smarter and cared more.

"I will not let you speak about Danse that way," she growled.

Maxson made a disgusted noise. "Snap out of it, Knight!" he ordered. "This machine is not worth your time. The ethics its striving to champion aren't even its own. They were artificially inserted in an attempt to have it blend in to society."

"It's true," Danse said, calmer than either of them. "I was born in the confines of a laboratory, and some of my memories aren't my own." His eyes softened, and he stepped forward. "But when I saw my brothers dying at my feet, I felt sorrow. When I defeated an enemy of the Brotherhood, I felt pride. And when I heard your speech about saving the Commonwealth, I felt _hope_."

" _You_ are an enemy of the Brotherhood now," Maxson said harshly.

Danse made an exasperated sound. "Don't you understand?" he asked. "I thought I was human, Arthur." He shook his head. "From the moment I was taken in by the Brotherhood, I've done nothing to betray your trust. And I never will."

Maxson studied him, stone-faced. "It's too late for that now," he said coldly. "The Institute has foolishly chosen to give you life. You simply should not exist."

His eyes slid to Addison. "I don't intend to debate this any longer. My orders stand."

Danse's face fell, consumed by despair again. He cleared his throat. "It's alright," he said to her. "We did our best."

Her voice shook. "Danse, _no_."

He put his hands out to gently shush her. "You convinced me not to be ashamed of my true identity, and I thank you for it. Whatever you decide, I'm going to my grave with no anger and no regrets. It's okay, Addison."

"Touching," Maxson sneered. "Now either you execute him or _I_ will, Knight."

Addison was staring at Danse: the small, encouraging smile on his face. The forgiveness in his eyes. She could not let him die.

She rotated and raised her pistol to Maxson's chest.

"Addison, _no_!"

Danse was close enough that he grabbed her instantly. He easily wrested the gun from her hands, one palm facing Maxson in a placating gesture because Maxson had whipped out his _own_ pistol and was pointing it at them. Dogmeat gave a short, angry bark in the chaos.

"Don't hurt her," Danse said. "She's only confused."

"I am not confused!" she exclaimed angrily. "If Maxson wants an ultimatum, I'll give him an ultimatum!"

There were tears in her eyes, and she realized she was only making things worse. She pushed past Danse without her pistol, standing in front of Maxson, his gun inches from her chest.

"You're lucky you aren't already dead," Maxson snapped.

"If I've earned any trust or respect while I've served with the Brotherhood, I would gladly trade it for Danse's life," she said.

" _That_ is only an indication of how deeply your judgment has been clouded because of your feelings for this _thing_ ," Maxson spat.

Addison shifted, but did not back down. She was foolish to think any emotional appeal would work on him. Despite everything Danse had done, he was now nothing to Maxson. No matter how many lives he'd saved or what he'd done for the Brotherhood.

Her final option was to negotiate—to leverage the only thing she had.

"If Danse dies, then you lose me as well. I can't stay in good conscience if his life means that little to you."

"You think I value _you_ more than destroying what the Institute has created?" he asked incredulously.

A hot, angry breath left her nose. "You'd be a fool not to," she said. "I have given the Brotherhood everything it needs to defeat the Institute. You want Liberty Prime up and running?" She pointed to her chest. "You're going to need me."

"We can and will do it without you," Maxson said firmly.

"You could try," she replied. "But you've got post-war resources and limited expertise." She leaned closer. "In case you've forgotten, I come from a family of some of the greatest minds of my generation. I'm willing to bet I'm one of the best scientists in the Commonwealth." Her eyes narrowed. "You've seen what I'm capable of."

The lines around Maxson's mouth deepened, and she imagined he wanted to melt her with his glare.

"You are a stubborn woman," he ground out. He lowered his gun, and every muscle in her body relaxed.

"It seems we've arrived at an impasse," Maxson remarked acridly. "Allowing Danse to live undermines everything the Brotherhood stands for, yet you _insist_ he remains alive."

"We can reach a compromise," Addison insisted.

Maxson turned to Danse. "I've made my decision, and as far as I'm concerned, you're dead," he said. "You were pursued and slain by this Brotherhood Knight, and your remains were incinerated. From this day forward, you are forbidden to set foot on the Prydwen, or speak to anyone from the Brotherhood of Steel." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Should you choose to ignore my orders, you will be fired upon immediately. Do we understand each other?"

"I do," Danse said. "Thank you for believing in me, Arthur."

He scowled. "Do not mistake my mercy for acceptance." He pointed to Addison. "The only reason you're still alive is because of her."

Addison felt an odd swell of pride from that, and her lip ticked up slightly. Maxson could strut around as the big tough leader all day, but _she_ had gotten what she wanted from him.

Maxson gave her a disapproving look. "I will be returning to the Prydwen," he said. "Take your time to say your goodbyes, and then I _expect_ to see you there."

Her mood immediately deflated. She'd promised herself to the Brotherhood to save Danse's life. That sacrifice was worth it, and likely made Danse happy, but all she'd wanted before was to get _away_ from these complications. Now, she had to stay or risk Maxson going back on his word and hurting Danse.

"I understand," Addison said.

Maxson nodded curtly to her. He did not give Danse a second glance and disappeared into the darkness. He was quick to mount his Vertibird, and soon dust was swirling all around them as it rose into the air and disappeared.

Danse did not say anything while Maxson retreated. He watched his friend disappear—just like his career at the Brotherhood had disappeared. Everything he once knew, really.

"It took a hell of a lot of guts to stand up to Maxson like that," Danse finally remarked. "I never expected you to do that."

Addison trotted back over to him. "The Commonwealth is no place to be timid." She stopped in front of him, lips pursed. "Why did you try to protect Maxson?"

"I promised I would be loyal to him, and I will," Danse replied. "We would have gained nothing by killing him."

She shook her head. "I can't believe you would defend him after what he did."

"Many people would find it hard to believe that you're so willing to defend _me_ ," Danse pointed out.

"You have saved my life more times than I can count," Addison said. "I owe you."

He smiled slightly. "That's…why I'm staying. Here. In this bunker," he said. "I vowed to protect you, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you wander the Commonwealth alone."

She waved her hand. "No, Danse, this isn't a _home_. You're coming to Sanctuary with me. We are well-fortified, and I'm sure everyone will want to see you."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I don't…I couldn't stand to put you in more danger."

"Don't worry," she said, grinning. "As you can see, I can hold my own."

His face turned serious again. "I want you to know that if you continue your quest to destroy the Institute, I will not hesitate to kill any synths," he said. "I might physically be one, but my heart and—well, my mind belongs to the Brotherhood."

 _Who does your heart belong to?_ she wanted to ask, but didn't. It wasn't the time. Danse was hiding his pain well, but soon it would re-emerge, after the disbelief faded. The little reminders that brought on intense sadness. She wanted to be there for him in any capacity he needed.

"I'm not worried about that," she assured him.

Danse's head dropped, and he clenched his fingers as they hung at his side. "I…" He sighed. "Thank you for your help."

"Hey, that's what I'm here for," she said with a gentle grip on his arm.

He looked out at the dark sky. "You need to return to the Prydwen."

"I'm not done saying my goodbyes," she said. "And I want you to-,"

His jaw tightened. "I need—time, Addison. A-And I don't want you to undermine Maxson's authority any further."

"What are you saying?" she asked. "You want me to leave you alone here in this bunker?"

"I'll be fine," he said.

Addison knew she should be reasonable. Of course he wanted some distance—he had a lot to grapple with now that he had a life ahead of him to live. A life without the Brotherhood or any of the comforts he was accustomed to.

She squeezed his arm. "I understand, Danse," she said. "Just-," She looked down. "Let Dogmeat stay with you. He'll protect you and won't engage in any conversation, I swear."

Danse hesitated, staring down at Dogmeat as well. He finally relented. "Alright. The dog can stay."

Addison beamed at him. "You won't regret it."

He did not return her smile. "Goodbye, Addison."

She kept her grip on his arm. This was harder than she expected. God, she was so worried for him. So worried about how he felt and what he might do.

"I'll be back," she said. "Just as soon as I'm done on the Prydwen."

He sighed. "Hopefully when we meet again, it will be under happier circumstances."

"Danse-,"

"Don't worry," he said, touching her hand. "I'll be fine. Go."

Addison nodded and reluctantly relinquished her grip. She rubbed Dogmeat between his ears while he sat beside Danse, tail thumping the ground.

She waved to them both, and Danse returned the gesture. Then, face sullen, he turned and disappeared back into the bunker.

Addison gave a weak wince watching him go. He wasn't better. No matter what she said, she couldn't make it better. For the rest of his life, he would be a _synth_. Not a Brotherhood soldier. Not anyone he'd ever been before.

And now she too, rather than being free of the various factions in the Commonwealth, was trapped in the Brotherhood again, while the person she cared for most was their enemy.


	19. Chapter 19

Danse returned to the basement of the bunker—alive. Or as alive as he could be as a synth.

Nothing had gone according to his careful plan. He was supposed to die, as an example for the Brotherhood. As a way for Addison to prove that she was loyal, so Maxson would no longer suspect her.

Instead, Addison—like she _always_ did—persuaded him to change his mind. To stay alive, even though he was an abomination.

Danse had been gripped with many emotions over a short span of time. Terror dominated it all. Killing himself had been a coward's way out, and now he would have to face the realities of being a synth. _Living_ as a synth.

Living outside the Brotherhood.

In the basement, Danse sat on a rusted bookshelf, elbows rested on his knees. His brow was set low over his eyes, hands clasped tight together. He heard Dogmeat wandering near him as he stared at the ground. The dog sat at his feet, then lowered himself onto his tummy.

Danse didn't really _get_ why Dogmeat would provide any comfort to him—maybe it was an innate instinct humans had. Something that the Institute couldn't quantify and program into him.

He stood to pace the concrete for—he didn't know how long. Each stride was a mechanical motion, a way to express his rising panic. It ebbed and flowed, until he resorted to taking stock of the basement.

He decided to try and make the place more… _livable_. Addison had insisted he accompany her to Sanctuary, but that neighborhood was a large, open plain of land. Danse had to contend with the eventuality that he might have to leave and find a more secluded place to live in the Commonwealth. Especially now that Addison had re-invigorated her commitment to the Brotherhood.

All their talk before Danse discovered he was a synth now seemed absurd. It was a cruel irony because in the Glowing Sea her departure was all he could think about. The white, hot betrayal he felt. As it turned out, _he_ was the traitor, even moreso than her. That did not excuse her lying to him, and that hovered in the electric pathways of his mind, though it was hardly his primary concern.

No, his primary concern was that his entire life was a fabrication. Everything he sacrificed as a solder was for _nothing_. His principles, his actions, his _life_ had been guided by the Brotherhood. That's _all_ he was. What was left of him except the hollow, artificial shell the Institute had created?

A shell that they crafted and then crammed with memories that weren't his. How the _hell_ was he supposed to know what was real anymore? His childhood wasn't. His life in Rivet City. His friendship with Cutler. Even his feelings for Addison were probably just…a _glitch_ in his programming. Some errant line of code outside the complex software stored away in some chip in his brain.

Danse's lungs clenched, pushing the air from chest, which probably didn't matter, but still the emotions overcame him. The futility of his life, the utter loneliness and hopelessness he experienced in this cold, dark room.

Honestly, he expected himself to weep and crumple into a ball, but he was _paralyzed_. Plagued with thoughts that this outpouring was just a coded reaction in the software that regulated his every movement. He simply _mimicked_ the human experience to blend in. That's what the Institute had designed him for.

Was he really feeling anything, or had the computer that was his brain merely sensed triggers that brought on an onslaught of sadness that the world expected him to have?

It was debilitating to exist that way—to be so acutely aware of his purpose and what his thoughts were _really_ composed of.

Danse had wished for death when he thought that's what Maxson would want. What he believed from being in the Brotherhood for so long. Now—god, now he just wished Addison had done it because he didn't want to live his life like this. Constantly second-guessing his sanity and every impulse that shot through him.

What was the point of life outside the Brotherhood? To live with Addison and what? The emotions he felt weren't _real_ —just lines of code. What was the purpose of it all?

It occurred to Danse that Addison was right—he shouldn't have been left alone to "cope." There was nothing for him to cope with. His life was ruined. He had nothing.

This was his fate, and he would never be okay with it.

When Addison hopped off a Vertibird and onto the open deck of the Prydwen, she knew she was the center of conversation between every living person on the ship. The rumor of Danse's true identity had spread, as well as the mission she'd been assigned because of it.

Many soldiers saluted her as she passed, though behind others eyes she saw thinly veiled disdain. Perhaps they, like her, despised the notion that Maxson would execute his best man so easily.

Addison crossed the command deck to where Maxson was standing as usual—like nothing had happened. Business as usual.

She clasped her hands behind her back and took a deep breath.

"Reporting as ordered, Elder."

Maxson turned, mimicking her pose, though his anger was more palpable than hers. His lips were drawn in a tight, white line.

"Before we continue, I want to make one thing clear," he said. "This is the last time we will speak about Danse. As far as the BoS is concerned, he's dead. Do you understand?"

Addison frowned. "I'll never understand, but I won't mention him again."

Maxson exhaled, clearly annoyed. "You realize your actions at Listening Point Bravo are grounds for punishment?"

"If you punish me, others will suspect I failed to execute Danse," Addison pointed out. She was trying not to be insubordinate, but it wasn't working.

"Do you think you run this organization, Howard?" he demanded. "That I bow to your every whim just because I let that _traitor_ walk away?"

Addison unclenched her hands. "I have no interest in interfering with your role as Elder. All I care about is Danse _staying_ alive." She met his gaze. "If you have him killed behind my back-,"

"I'm a man of my word," Maxson said. "If Danse remains invisible to the BoS, he'll remain unharmed."

She scowled because she didn't believe him.

He held out his hand. "I hope _you_ will be a woman of your word," he said. "You promised your help with Liberty Prime."

She hated that her allegiance was the only thing keeping Danse alive. That she had to worry now about his safety at every turn, more than usual in the Commonwealth.

"I'll give it," she said with a nod.

Maxson turned to look out his large windows—at what, she didn't know. It was foggy that morning.

"I have another problem," he remarked. "You see, Danse's execution creates a missing link in our chain of command."

"I'm sure there are many capable soldiers who would be glad to take on that responsibility," Addison replied.

"Yes, but _you_ are the one known for executing Danse," Maxson said. "An action worthy of a promotion in the eyes of many, even if that's not the truth."

She furrowed her brow. "What are you saying? You want to promote _me_?"

Maxson shook his head. "At this juncture, I don't have much of a choice." His shoulders sank before he faced her. "I am promoting you to the rank of Paladin. Danse's quarters and his possessions are now yours, including his suit of power armor."

God—she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of her position. She'd _quit_ the Brotherhood days ago, and now she was one of their Paladins. Maxson was right that he had no choice: revealing Danse was alive would hurt his reputation as a leader. Promoting her would quell any suspicion of that. If she _had_ killed him, it would have been quite an act of loyalty.

"I don't need a promotion to help with Liberty Prime," Addison protested.

"Howard, that wasn't an offer," he said coldly. "I'm willing to overlook your lapse in judgment, given the circumstances. But you _will_ follow _all_ my other orders."

He stepped closer, face tense. He had a broad chest and shoulders—always trying so hard to intimidate her with his fierce glare.

"Do you understand?" he asked tersely. "The stakes?"

She understood them. Intimately. Maxson was not a man of his word, no matter what Danse thought. He was a man of the Brotherhood. He was loyal to his own goals and his reputation. To force her to stay in the Brotherhood, he'd jeopardize Danse's safety. It might even be better that he let Danse live—now he had something to hang over her head to keep her in line.

"I understand," Addison said in a hoarse whisper.

Maxson eyes narrowed slightly. "Good," he replied curtly. "You're dismissed. Paladin."

Addison did not like hearing that title and walked away immediately in the hopes she wouldn't hear it twice. All eyes were on her again once she was outside of Maxson's room—her stomach flipped, and she knew she couldn't stay for long.

In addition to being congratulated on being a Paladin, these soldiers would _applaud_ her for killing Danse. How could she paste a smile on her face when she was filled with so much disgust?

Addison quickly excited the Prydwen for the Flight deck, but when she reached the narrow walkway, Ingram was hopping out of a Vertibird.

Ingram spotted her immediately, though she didn't smile. Her face remained grim and considering the walkway was so narrow on the flight deck, she could not escape an interaction.

"Howard," Ingram began. "Paladin Howard, I suppose."

She furrowed her brow. "How did you know?"

"It's one of the many rumors floating around," she replied. "But I believe that one. What you did was…" She looked around. "Brave."

 _Brave_. Addison pursed her lips tightly. "I did it. I don't know if it was brave."

Ingram stepped to the side to let someone pass. She waited until they got to the door before she spoke.

"You know, after my accident, I tried to convince Maxson to let me go back out into the field," she said. "Cade and I thought my power armor made me just as capable as before."

Addison leaned against the railing beside her. "And what did Maxson think?"

"He said no," Ingram replied. "And I was pissed." She frowned deeply. "All I wanted was to be back in the field, and I was trapped on this giant metal ship."

"I'm sorry," Addison said. "That's unfair—any soldier would be lucky to have you at their side."

Ingram shook her head. "I know it probably upset you to carry out your orders, but I think we both need to realize that even if we're mad about one decision, we're fighting for a larger goal. For peace and protecting the innocent."

Addison was glad Ingram could believe that—she didn't. Destroying the Institute might be a necessity, but protecting the innocent wouldn't be accomplished by hoarding technology and promoting violence.

"Thank you, Ingram," she said. "That's…honestly the best advice I've gotten about all this."

"Well, don't go around telling people I was trying to make you feel better," Ingram grumbled. "I know that it must have been hard. He really cared for-," She looked down. "Well, never mind."

Addison clenched her hands. _Look sad_ , she thought to herself—because to Ingram and the others, Danse was dead. She'd valiantly killed him because he was their enemy.

"I…did what had to be done," she admitted.

"And it was the right thing to do," Ingram replied. "Danse would have done the same."

Addison felt her brow wrinkle—she hadn't thought about that. What if _she_ had been the synth? Not that it was possible given her past, but would Danse have killed _her_? Followed Maxson's orders even though he cared for her?

It was a chilling thought, and she exhaled slowly.

"I believe that," Addison admitted.

"Perhaps it will provide some comfort then," Ingram said. "I've gotta go—I don't want to hear any rumors about how I've gone soft."

"Bye, Ingram," Addison said with a weak wave. "See you around."

"Yeah, I hope so."

Ingram left her on the flight deck, where the wind was gently swaying the narrow metal platform under her feet. She knew she should return to Danse right away—who knew what thoughts he was having sitting _alone_ in a dreary basement?

Except the only reason he was sitting in the basement was because of her. If their roles had been reversed…

Was Ingram right? Would he have done the same?

Addison shook her head sharply and marched over to the vacant Vertibird. There was no point lingering over such things now. She couldn't talk about them with Danse. And maybe she didn't want to know what he'd say if she asked him.

The gears in the elevator clanged, and Danse straightened immediately, hand clenched around the pistol at his waist. He had spent his entire life on alert, but now he had to protect himself from the Brotherhood. From his friends.

It was Addison, of course. She was back much sooner than he expected, which meant that she had spent little time on the Prydwen. Dogmeat trotted over from the other side of the room, tail wagging.

"Danse," Addison said before she'd even left the elevator. She strode over to him, her hands reaching out and resting on his arms. "Are—how are you?"

His brow dipped in. "Why do you sound so worried?"

Her grip on him tightened. "I'm not… _worried_. Leaving you was just hard," she said. "I…was so afraid that I would come back and…" She sighed. "I don't know."

Danse moved her arms to her sides, but his hands lingered. "You shouldn't worry," he said. "I have to live with this. Nothing will make it better."

"Your life doesn't have to be bad forever," she said softly.

"I hope not," he admitted—he saw in her face how much that upset her, so he tried to change the subject.

"Tell me what happened on the Prydwen," he said.

She shook her head. "Come on, Danse, that doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," he protested. The Brotherhood might have abandoned him, but he still believed in them. Believed in Maxson.

Addison gave a resigned sigh. "I didn't spend much time there. People…congratulated me. I spoke to Maxson briefly. That was it."

Her eyes darted away, so he knew she was lying.

His heart clenched because he was aware of exactly what she was lying _about_.

"Maxson promoted you, didn't he?"

She still didn't meet his gaze. "Why—why would you think that?" she asked.

Danse sighed. "Because killing me is an act that would deserve it," he said. "Others would be suspicious if you weren't given a reward."

Addison shifted awkwardly. "I suppose…" She clenched her hands at her side. "I suppose he did. Promote me. I didn't want it."

Danse hung his head. Paladin _Howard_. What a quick ascent through the ranks she'd made, despite her treacherous actions.

"What are you going to do, Addison?" he asked. "You can't keep helping the Railroad while you're a Paladin."

She ran her hand through her hair. "We don't have to talk about this now."

"No, we do," Danse protested. "I tried to explain to you that your behavior has put your life in danger. If Maxson finds out what happened-,"

"Exactly, Danse," she cut in. "It's _already_ happened. I've done enough to merit—whatever punishment I'll get." She pressed her fingers to her temple, eyes on the ground. "I agreed to stay in the Brotherhood to protect you. Not because I want to keep doing the work."

Danse let his shoulders drop. He had known for a while that Addison had probably _never_ been the Brotherhood soldier that he believed— _wanted_ her to be.

But she'd put her life on the line for him. Stood by him when there was no one else who had his back. How could he blame her for supporting synths now anyway? Her beliefs and persuasion had kept him alive.

"I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you," he said.

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "I already found the Mark-28s. I helped with Liberty Prime. Maxson might not ask any more of me."

Danse knew that wasn't true—Addison was certainly good at avoiding inconvenient truths.

"I don't know about that."

She stepped forward. "You don't need to worry about me. There is…enough on your plate right now."

"That is the opposite of the truth," Danse grumbled. "I'm going to spend my days sitting in this bunker, hiding away."

Addison touched his arm again. "You are coming with me to Sanctuary. We're going to both start new lives there. I know you never wanted to leave the Brotherhood behind, but…" She leaned closer. "Your life doesn't have to end because of it."

Danse swallowed roughly. "The Brotherhood _was_ my life."

Her face fell. "I know," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Danse."

"I don't mean to discourage you," he said hurriedly. "I wouldn't be here if not for you. You came to find me even after you quit."

"That's because I quit the Brotherhood," she replied. "I didn't want to quit— _you_. Our…relationship. Friendship."

"Well now you don't have to," Danse said, though he didn't smile. He hadn't spent too long mulling over Addison's betrayal. He was in a poor position to be picky about his friends.

She was the only person he had left. It would have to do, despite the lies.

Addison gaze was downcast. She seemed to have read his mind because her brow was puckered in concern. At least she was uncomfortable with what had transpired during their fight.

"Let's head back to Sanctuary," she said. "I'm sure the others are worried about us."

Worried about _her_. He was a synth. That only made him more unlikable to the others. As if they didn't distrust him enough already.

"I'm still not sure me being there is a good idea," he admitted.

"Of _course_ it is," she insisted. "You can't live alone in this bunker. You'll go insane."

"I don't think synths can go insane," Danse said. "They— _we_ can malfunction I guess."

She did not like his reply, but smiled tightly without comment. "Danse, I want you to come with me. Please."

He clenched his jaw. "Alright," he said. "But if your safety is ever jeopardized-,"

"Trust me," she interjected firmly. "It's worth it."

Danse looked past her shoulder towards the elevator. "We should head out while we can. And keep an eye out for any Brotherhood soldiers following you."

"Don't worry," she assured him. "Maxson would be a fool to think I wouldn't come see you again."

"Or maybe you're the fool," he remarked. "A Paladin of the Brotherhood hanging around with a synth?"

"Hanging around with my closest friend, you mean?" she replied. "Who just happens to be a synth, which doesn't make any difference to me."

"It will make a difference to the others," Danse said.

Addison tugged him forward. "I promise that you'll feel at home." She looked around the room. "What do you want to take along with you?"

Danse's heart sank. All his possessions were on the Prydwen. Though they didn't really feel like his anyway.

"Nothing, Addison," he said. "I have nothing to take with me."

Danse walked past her and into the elevator, smashing his large finger against the up button on the control panel. Addison didn't follow him immediately. He saw her shoulders sag in disappointment—like she somehow expected to make everything better with her touch and her comforting words.

No matter what she said, he was still a synth. Still an abomination. He had nothing in his life, and the only thing he did to the one person he cared about was put them in danger.

Nothing would fix that.

Danse did not like leaving Listening Post Bravo and venturing outside. He had been a vigilant soldier before all this, but now he was…paranoid. The openness of the Commonwealth was not a boon to him. Anyone could spot him, report it to the Brotherhood, and he'd be dead. Addison probably would be, too.

Because of this risk, the two of them ventured quite quickly to Sanctuary. In silence, rapidly advancing through empty fields and dilapidated roads, Addison's steps dwarfed by his.

Once they reached Sanctuary, Addison doubled the number of sentries at the bridge—for his safety alone. She probably thought he didn't notice, but he was painstakingly aware of what inconveniences he posed to her. Not the least of which was that she was forced to be back in the Brotherhood, despite her betrayal of them. Of him.

Danse returned to his house after they arrived, while Addison watched him walk away because she hated his silence and her inability to fix his problems with her honeyed words.

There was nothing for him to do in his house. Nothing to unpack. He merely sat on his cot and contemplated his abysmal future.

He did not know how much time had passed before he heard footsteps at the door. Probably not that much time, not that he kept track anymore. It was Addison, of course, because she couldn't stand to leave him alone. She may disavow her motherly instincts, but she certainly know how to hover.

She walked into the living room without knocking, and then found him in his bedroom.

"Hey," she said, giving him a smile with her white teeth that he did not reciprocate.

Addison settled down next to him, her thigh pressed along the length of his. "Good to be back in Sanctuary, isn't it?"

"This is your home, Addison, not mine."

She pushed her hair behind her ear—still smiling, so incorrigibly _resilient_. Like some damn housewife.

"I wanted it to be your home, too."

Danse laced his fingers together. "Synths don't strike me as needing homes."

Addison put her hand on his knee. " _You_ have a home, Danse. With me."

Danse said nothing and rested his elbows on his knees. What was he supposed to do? Pretend to have some nice pleasant conversation with her when his life currently resembled a pile of rubble?

Why should he want a life with her, anyway? A life of lies?

Addison turned to pick up something beside her in the silence, bringing a pile of clothes onto her lap.

"I brought something. For you."

He furrowed his brow. "I don't need clothes."

Addison shifted awkwardly. "Danse, you…" She looked down at him. "You can't wear that jumpsuit. It's bright orange and…"

He sat up straighter. "And what?"

She sighed. "You're not in the Brotherhood. You can't wear their uniform."

His head dropped. He couldn't take a breath without getting another hit. "I have been wearing this uniform my whole life—or whatever the hell my life is."

Addison put the clothes beside him. "It's time to move on."

"Don't say that like its easy," he said, in a sharper tone than he intended.

She was quiet for a moment, lips pressed tight together. "I know it isn't easy, but you've got to be willing to take that first step. For your safety. You shouldn't wear the jumpsuit."

"Why does that matter?" he asked. "I can't leave this place anyway."

"Yes you can," she replied. "There will be plenty of ways to…disguise you. Everything will be fine."

Danse gave a derisive snort. "Everything will be fine," he muttered.

She hesitated. "I—didn't mean it like that."

"I know," he said. He turned and gestured to the clothes. "Thanks for these. For thinking of them."

She did not respond, but she didn't leave right away either. Her hand rose to slide along his shoulder, and her touch sent tingles down his spine, except that he knew that was just the expected response from his programming. How he was _supposed_ to feel when a beautiful woman paid any attention to him.

"Things will get better," she assured him. "I promise."

Danse nodded and cleared his throat. "You've probably got a lot of work to do."

She retracted her hand—he did not know if he really wanted her to leave, but his response worked because she stepped back.

"Right," she said. "Well, I'll—be around if you need me."

"Thanks, Addison," he said, head angled down.

She waited for him a little while longer, but then he heard her footsteps growing quiet as she walked away in defeat.

Danse let out a heavy sigh when she left. He craned his neck to look at the clothes beside him—a plaid shirt and jeans. He frowned and pushed them back along the bed. His Brotherhood jumpsuit was all he knew. Why should he have to wear anything different?

 _Because your life is a lie_ , he thought to himself. _You_ are a lie.

Danse shook his head. Addison had lied to him too. Lied to his face and before he found out he was a synth, her betrayal had hurt him deeper than anything. He _wanted_ to seek comfort from her, but the only thing that rattled around in his brain was their fight, the feelings he had when she'd left him.

He buried his face in his hands and then pulled them through his hair. His life was a disaster—an absolute shattered mess, and Addison had made the first crack.

Addison knew that Shaun expected her to arrive at the Institute at any moment for his Directorate meeting. Her son was welcoming her into the fold of his organization even further, and she was—a traitor. In more ways than one.

She would raise Shaun's suspicions if she didn't appear, and she was not ready to do that. Of course, going to the Institute meant she had to leave Danse, and that wasn't ideal either.

Danse had been quiet since he arrived in Sanctuary. Isolated. He shuffled around in his house without much regard for the others or anything around him. Addison hated it because he wasn't going to feel any better sitting mired in his own morbid thoughts.

The day she planned to leave for the Institute, she spotted Danse out of the house, tucked away by the river on an old picnic table. He was out of his Brotherhood jumpsuit, so his clothes didn't stick out against the dull brown grass and spindly trees. He looked so… _normal_.

She crossed the empty lot behind his house to reach him—her boots crunched the dirt under her, and Danse immediately craned his neck around, shoulders back. He needed to be vigilant, even in Sanctuary.

When he spotted her, his face fell, and he turned to the creek.

Addison tried not to take it personally. She climbed up to sit beside him.

"Good to see you outside," she remarked.

He had his hands clasped together, and his knuckles whitened. "It's probably stupid. I'm not safe out here."

She leaned back. "The Brotherhood has a large presence, but it's not _that_ large."

"For now," he muttered.

Addison exhaled slowly—she was not very good at walking the thin line between pestering Danse and giving him space.

"I'm not going to let any harm come to you," she said. "From the Brotherhood, especially."

Danse shook his head. "I was the one that was supposed to protect _you_."

"Maybe before, when I first left the Vault," she said. "But I don't need someone to take care of me. We can be equally protective."

"Equal?" he began incredulously. "We weren't equal from the start."

She scooted to face him. "Excuse me?"

He gestured weakly. "Addison, I was your meat-headed bodyguard at best. And a _synth_ ," he said. " _You_ are stupidly persuasive and kind and you're not even the worst shot anymore. As if that weren't enough, you are one of the most intelligent people I've ever met and without a doubt the best scientist in the Commonwealth."

"Danse, how could you say that?" she demanded—she cared more about his opinion of himself than his opinion of her. "You were a Paladin for the Brotherhood."

"My primary job was to point and shoot," Danse said. "I wasn't a strategist—I lost half my team in the Commonwealth. I'm some synth crafted for battle and nothing else."

"That's not true," Addison protested. "Synths are—they're fully functional. They're _human_."

"We are machines disguised to _look_ human."

Addison leaned forward. "Come on, Danse. That's not true."

He frowned. "I understand what you're trying to do, but it doesn't change what I am."

"Danse-,"

He lifted his head, but didn't look at her. "I don't know what the hell you expect from me."

"I—I don't _expect_ anything," she said with a crease in her brow.

"What do you want me to say then?" he asked. He finally turned to face her. "Am I supposed to assure you that everything's okay? That one day I'll wake up and it'll just be _fine_?"

"No, of course not-,"

"You think it should be easy, but it's not," he interjected sharply. "You accept synths, but I _don't_. I haven't ever since I joined the Brotherhood."

She trapped her hands between her thighs. She so desperately wished there was something she could do to help him. "I'm sorry."

They sat in silence until Danse sighed. "I don't mean to be rude. I know this isn't your fault." He ran his hand through his hair. "I really thought this would be easier to talk about."

"I don't want you to think your life has to be over because of this," she said softly.

"What if it is?" he asked. "I've spent my entire life—or what I perceive as my life—following a plan. One I thought I made for myself. But it wasn't. I have no plan. No control."

She shifted. "I don't think you need a plan."

"I am _lost_ ," he said, the color drained from his face. "I exist without a purpose now."

"You can find a new purpose," she insisted.

"That's not the point," he snapped. He pushed himself from the table with a scowl. "Don't you understand? Everything I had, everything I knew—it's _gone_. In the span of a few hours, my identity was ripped from me, and my world turned upside down."

Addison leaned forward. "Danse, I understand how you feel."

He met her gaze with an angry twist in his mouth. "I don't think you do. At least what _you_ had was something tangible. Something _real_. Your husband, your son—they were living, breathing humans who loved you and cared for you."

He clenched his fist, voice rising. "Those sons of bitches who created me couldn't even be bothered to implant memories of siblings or parents. I don't know how much of my own past is artificial and how much is real. You _can't_ understand that."

She stood and held out her hand. "I know," she said. "I-I don't understand. But that doesn't mean I can't help you."

Danse began pacing. His voice lowered, wobbly. "I started out as nothing, and I ended up as…as _nothing_." He threw his hand out. "And I don't know what the hell to do about it."

Addison touched his arm, fingers tracing the flannel he was wearing. He flinched, but didn't pull away—he probably would have done that if she'd flung her arms around him like she wanted to. She put her other hand on his chest. "You don't have to be defined by the Brotherhood, Danse. You can't be anymore. There is so much more to you than that."

"What if I don't want more?" he asked. "I liked what I was doing, and you might hate the Brotherhood, but it meant something to me."

"I don't-," She stopped herself because maybe she _did_ hate the Brotherhood.

He snorted. "That's what I thought," he said, stepping away from her.

"Danse-,"

"It's like you don't even care that you lied to me," he remarked acridly. "Because _I'm_ a synth, it's suddenly okay."

"No, I know it was wrong," Addison insisted. "I just-,"

He gestured to the entrance of Sanctuary. "I saw you packing your bag. Why don't you tell me where you were going, _Paladin_?"

She clenched her jaw. "I'm going to see my son."

"Your son leads the Institute," he said. "Our— _your_ enemy. Are you going to visit the Railroad next? Conspire against my friends?"

"They're not your friends," Addison protested. "They'd kill you if they had the chance."

"They follow orders," Danse snapped back. "They have honor and respect for their superiors and their mission. That's not a quality you have."

She frowned. "If I were like the others, you'd be dead right now."

Danse threw his hand out. "You can pretend that you were only betraying the Brotherhood, but _I'm_ the one you lied to for months," he said angrily. "I'm the one who trusted you and vouched for you, and I'm the one who was a fool for believing anything you said."

"I'm _sorry_ ," she said exasperatedly. "I've said I'm sorry a hundred times."

"It's too late," Danse replied, turning sharply to face the creek. "It's…ruined. I lost you in the Glowing Sea and _everything else_ when I left."

Addison shook her head. "You have every right to be angry, Danse. But whether you like or it not, I'm still here. Unlike the others."

He rested his hands on his hips, head down. "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about that."

She crossed her arms over her chest. Her lips pursed in disappointment, or maybe panic. Danse was finally talking about his feelings, but…she hadn't expected his hostility to her.

"I didn't realize your uncertainty about things extended to…you and I."

Danse clenched his jaw. "I'm aware that you're the _only_ person left in my life," he said. "But that doesn't mean-," He rubbed his temple. "You lied to me. And you can say the Brotherhood betrayed me, but you did too."

She felt her throat tightening and looked away. "I wish I could tell you I won't lie again, but I…know you won't believe me. Not after I did it to Nate, too."

Danse shuffled past her before stopping with his lips drawn tight. "Being a synth made me question what was real in my life, but—so did your lies."

He walked back towards his house without another word—because he didn't care about what she had to say. God, there was nothing she _could_ say to defend herself.

There were no words in her repertoire to reassure Danse after her actions. She lied to her husband and not learned a lesson because she lied to him, too. Her selfishness knew no bounds. And because of that, Danse wanted nothing to do with her. Why should he? His life was a lie, and she hadn't made it any better by lying to him.

She kicked her foot in the dirt, coating her boots in a thin film of brown. She knew her tears wouldn't solve anything, but they welled up unbidden around her eyes. She blinked them away and rubbed her arms.

Clearly it would be best for her to just leave—if Danse wasn't going to forgive her, than perhaps she could keep playing her game. At least it would let her keep her son.

Addison arrived at the Institute in an instant—one second of fiddling with her Pip-Boy, and she was surrounded by the austere white and grays of her son's home. She could not deny that the cleanliness of the Institute, its lack of disrepair, appealed to her. Even if she knew the more insidious motives underneath the scientific advances.

She climbed the center stairs of the lab, passing by scientists and synths who perhaps respected her—who believed it was entirely logical she would be attending a Directorate meeting, when really there was no worse place she could be.

Shaun was waiting outside the room for her, hands clasped together in front of him. "Mother, it's good to see you," he said with a smile.

She hugged him because she might not get many more chances to—he stiffened, as usual, but did not pull away. "Good to see you too, Shaun."

He stepped back and cleared his throat. "Let's, uh, get this Directorate meeting over before we speak further," he said. "It's…well, it's important."

Addison nodded and followed him into a well-lit room. There were a group of scientists around the table—they leveled weary glares in her direction.

Shaun did not notice. He merely sat down at the head of the table.

"Good, you're all here. It's time to begin."

A scientist—Doctor Ayo—leaned forward. "Sir, excuse me, but…what exactly is _she_ doing here?"

Doctor Ayo was looking at _her_ , just as Addison sat in the only empty chair left in the room.

"I will address that issue," Shaun replied dismissively. "But there are other subjects here that require our attention first."

Ayo did not protest, just let his eyes narrow as he tentatively settled back into his chair. Shaun certainly commanded a high degree of respect among his scientists.

"The level of unrest in the Commonwealth continues to rise, as we're all aware," Shaun began. "Your report?"

Dr. Filmore folded her hands together. "All Institute facilities remain completely secure with the exception of one notable breach. Otherwise, things inside have been as tight as they've ever been. Doctor Ayo has been keeping an eye on things topside."

Ayo nodded. "Yes—watchers show no additional threats other than those previously identified."

'Very good, thank you," Shaun said. "It's clear that our safety needs to be the primary concern going forward. To that end, where are we on Phase Three?"

Addison was looking down at her hands, hardly paying attention to their discussion of day-to-day Institute business. Business she should know nothing of.

Ayo's reticence made her look up again.

"Ah, sir," he said. "Are you sure this is the time to be discussing it? Considering all parties present?"

Addison put her hands on her arm rests, ready to leave.

"That's true," Shaun admitted, then he looked at her. "Have you heard anything about Phase Three?"

She settled back. "I…have no idea what that is."

He smiled slightly. "I'll admit, I'm relieved," he said. "It's intended to be something of a classified project, which I'm sure means everyone already knows about it."

Addison did not return his smile—he was about to make her privy to more confidential information that Maxson would expect her to use to destroy them.

"With every advance the Institute makes, our need for raw power increases," Shaun explained. "The power that keeps the lights on. For far too long, we've been dependent on others, on our surroundings. That time is over."

"What does that have to do with Phase Three?" Addison asked.

"Phase Three is the activation of a nuclear reactor that can provide enough power to the Institute now and forever," Shaun said. "It will ensure not just our survival, but our prosperity."

Addison frowned. "A nuclear reactor?" she began. "Shaun-,"

"I know you must have your concerns, but please believe me when I say this is a necessity," he insisted. "And I tell you all this because I require your help."

"Sir?" Doctor Ayo interjected.

Shaun made an impatient sound, though Addison did share Ayo's concerns.

"Yes, Doctor Ayo. Previously we would rely on Kellogg for above ground operations." Shaun waved his hand dismissively. "Well, he is gone. While I am not overly fond of putting my own mother in harm's way, she has proven more than capable of handling herself."

Ayo shook his head. "Yes, but-,"

"This is not a matter for debate," he interrupted firmly. "You will help, won't you, Mother?"

Addison froze—afraid the sound of her beating heart was audible to everyone in the silent room. She couldn't keep helping Shaun. Not anymore. But how could she say no to him like this?

"O-Of course, Shaun," she managed to stammer out.

And then he moved on, like nothing was amiss, while Addison squired in her seat and wondered if her face was as red in her hair.

"There is one more matter left to discuss," Shaun remarked.

Now it was Dr. Holdren who expressed surprise—it seemed no one wanted her in the meeting. "I don't know that _this_ is the time," she said.

"It is time," Shaun said. "Please."

Addison furrowed her brow because Shaun's expression had changed, face falling, in a look of despair that panicked her.

Shaun exhaled slowly. "As I'm sure several of you are already aware, I've been under Dr. Volkert's care for some time." He paused for a moment, then shook his head and stood. "I'm sorry," he said. "This is difficult for me."

His head fell. "Our best efforts have failed. Every experimental treatment we could devise has been unsuccessful."

"Treatment?" Addison began. "Treatment for what?"

He turned to face her. "I'm…I'm sorry to say I am dying, Mother."

The other scientists in the room lost it—gasps and other sounds of indignation filled the room that Addison didn't hear. Their responses were drowned out by the numbness that washed over her, the failure of her brain to process what the hell was going on.

Shaun raised his hands. "Please, everyone! Please!"

The scientists silenced as he requested, and he dropped his arms with a sigh.

"I am sorry," he said. "This is not how I wanted to tell you, but we're out of time."

Addison was staring down at the rounded edge of the table. She was clenching her fist hard. "What happened?" she asked, tone hollow.

Shaun sat down. "I have a very aggressive form of cancer. Believe me when I say we've done everything we can."

She met his gaze, trying to hold back tears. "Shaun-,"

He smiled wanly. "We can talk more later, Mother. The future of the Institute is at stake."

Despite the sadness that had overcome her, Addison could not stop anger from joining it—Shaun cared more for the Institute than his own life. For the progress of science. Maybe it was noble, but that's how her father had felt too. His family, his life, were all secondary to the advances he could make and the glory he could accumulate.

"What are we supposed to do without you?" Doctor Filmore asked exasperatedly.

"The Institute cannot survive without leadership," Shaun admitted. "The Directorate must continue to govern with the best interest of all in mind." He rested on hand on the table. "To that end, I am naming my mother as my successor."

There was a _higher_ level of indignation after that comment, even more than when Shaun had said he was dying. This time, Addison did join in—with a sharp exhale of disbelief, while Doctor Ayo made a disgusted sound.

"How could you possibly justify this?" he demanded. "She isn't one of us—she isn't even a scientist!"

Shaun scowled. "Ignoring your borderline insubordinate tone, I will simply say this: the Institute has enough scientists. What it needs is a _leader_. I believe my mother has proven herself more than capable in that regard."

He leaned back and crossed his arms. "That will conclude our meeting. Thank you."

Every sat in a still silence for a moment, the scientists probably desperate to continue to protest. But, they begrudgingly did as they were told and stood. Addison did not miss the glare Doctor Ayo threw in her direction as they sullenly shuffled out. The door hissed shut behind them.

Addison did not know what to address first. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, so she figured his cancer was more important.

She swallowed. "You should have told me sooner."

Shaun sighed. "I know this is…well, it's a lot to take in at once." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, mother. I hope it wasn't too presumptuous of me to put you in charge without even asking first…"

"That's _not_ what I'm talking about," she interjected, lifting her gaze. "Shaun, if you're dying, that's all that matters."

"We have done everything we can," Shaun said. "There's nothing more to say."

Addison stood. "That's not good enough! You can't just _give up_. You're the only family I have."

"Mother, please," Shaun said. "I know this must be difficult for you—finding me only to lose me shortly after, but think of our future instead. The Institute must remain our priority."

Addison put her hands on her hips and turned away, fingers clenching into her shirt. Shaun was unrecognizable from the man she and Nate would have raised.

She heard Shaun's chair creaking as he stood. "There's no question that some of the Directorate, and the Institute at large, will need reassurance about your appointment. That's why I'd like you to take charge of this latest operation."

God, all he wanted to do was talk about business. Not the fact that she was going to lose him.

"Shaun, the others were right," she said. "I'm not equipped to—to _run_ this whole place. And I _am_ a scientist, not a leader."

"You should not diminish all you have accomplished in the Commonwealth," Shaun replied. "What you have done—it's remarkable. And though I wish you had spent more time here, I know you will lead these people well."

"But-,"

He walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "The people here are my family. The Institute is like my child. I would not put you in charge if I did not fully believe that you were capable of greatness."

Addison felt her throat tighten—her qualifications were not the only problem. Shaun, her son, _wanted_ her to love this place as much as he did, but she didn't. She was _actively_ plotting against it.

But how could she explain that to her own child? Her own _dying_ child?

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and looked down, determined not to cry. "I'll think about it, Shaun."

He gave her an encouraging smile. "Thank you, Mother. In the meantime, I hope you'll join in the efforts to complete Phase Three. I have an above-ground operation for you of utmost importance. Doctor Filmore will fill you in on the details."

Addison nodded. "Right, of course."

Shaun dropped his hand. He passed her and headed for the door—she heard his footsteps stop.

"There are hard decisions ahead, for you especially," he remarked. Addison turned to face him as he gave her a grave look. "I know you will do the right thing."

Addison just shut her mouth tight and nodded, probably too hard. Unconvincingly. But Shaun left anyway, and she was alone.

She _hated_ that there were so many people who expected her to do the right thing. And everyone's perception of the right thing was different. Destroy the Institute, run the Institute, kill synths, save them—they all wanted something different, and she had said _yes_ to every one of them. Like an idiot.

The conference room had a long, open window that looked upon the elevator and the tranquil environment below. Addison rested her forehead on the glass and exhaled sharply, fogging up her vision.

She would never run the Institute. There was no way she'd be good at it, and Shaun wouldn't allow it if he knew all she'd done.

But even if she knew she would never replace Shaun, she didn't know if she could destroy all he built, either.

Danse tried his best not to notice that Addison was gone. Out in the Commonwealth somewhere, at the Institute, exposed to danger at every turn. He was not supposed to care about that, if he didn't care about her.

Yet still he peered outside the window of his house onto the street, searching for any sign of her return.

It was almost irritating, honestly. He was a _synth_. This stuff was supposed to be easy. His emotions were fabricated, and yet he couldn't ignore them. How was that fair?

Addison spent two days at the Institute before she arrived back on the street where Danse was watching, crossing the bridge and stopping to greet her friends as they monitored the area. She left more quickly than he expected, head down, and slipped back into her house. Dogmeat followed at her heels.

Against his better judgment, Danse shuffled towards his own front door. He flexed his fingers as he crossed the threshold and then the dead grass in the yard. He knew it was just his hardware and whatever morals had been programmed into him, but he felt as if Addison deserved his attention instead of his ire. At least to let her share her side of her decision to lie.

It also hurt that Addison hadn't come to him when she arrived home—like she'd always done before, when she relied on him, and maybe a part of him still looked forward to her visits, even though he'd spurned her earlier.

He reached her door and pushed it open. Dogmeat was not surprised to see him, but Addison jumped from her place leaning on the kitchen island. She wasn't facing him, but he saw her quickly running the heels of her palms under her eyes.

He furrowed his brow. "Um—Addison?"

She cleared her throat and turned. Her eyes were glassy and red, but she smiled. "Hi, Danse," she said. "Hey. How are you?"

Danse walked over to her. "Why are you—I mean, are you crying?"

"Oh, no," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "It's—I'm fine, Danse. Don't worry." She gestured to him. "I want to hear about how you've been."

"What update could I possibly have?" he asked sourly.

She shrugged, still smiling. "I don't know—I-I want to make sure you're adjusting alright."

Danse rested his arm on the island with a sigh. "Do you have to smile all the time?" he asked incredulously. "You act so damn…peppy when-," He gestured weakly with one hand. "When there is _nothing_ to smile about."

Addison opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out at first. She shook her head, face falling. "I'm sorry. I don't know how else to act."

"You don't have to pretend with me," Danse remarked. "You can tell me what's upsetting you."

He saw tears welling up in her eyes before she turned to the counter with her hands spread across it. "You've got enough on your mind."

"I've got _you_ on my mind," Danse replied. "A lot."

She pursed her lips. "I thought you were…that _we_ were…"

Danse walked closer. "I-I know, and I…" He shook his head. "I don't know how to describe how I feel, but even if I'm still angry, whatever lines of code I have in my brain-,"

"Danse."

He dropped his hands. "I can't stand to see you upset."

Addison turned only her head to meet his gaze—she did not look relived or happy. Her eyes eventually settled back on the counter, and she swallowed roughly. "I went to the Institute," she said softly. "Shaun is—he's _dying_. Sick with cancer."

His brow furrowed. He had not expected her to be upset about that. "Addison, I—I'm sorry," he said.

She shook her head. "It's so… _stupid_. After all the feelings I've had about his role in the Institute, I still…want to help him. To fix it." She clenched her hands into fists as they rested on the counter. "There's _nothing_ I can do, as usual."

Her arms lifted to wrap tight around her torso, and she exhaled shakily. She tried to blink away her tears, but a few escaped.

An intense feeling of guilt hit Danse, shooting up his chest to his brain until it was screaming at him to reach out for her.

"Addison…" he said, as he lifted his arm and put it on her shoulder.

She quickly rubbed her face again. "Come on, Danse. You don't have to do this."

He shook his head. "I shouldn't have treated you the way I did. I _am_ angry, but…" He tried to ignore the fact that he had been inching closer to her ever since he came into her house. "I've lost enough against my will. If I were to make a _choice_ to push the last person in my life away—I'd be a fool."

Addison rubbed her eyes again. He could feel the tension in her shoulders loosening. "I'm so sorry, Danse. I'm so-,"

He put his other arm around her and pulled her against him, which is not _exactly_ what he intended to do—it would only encourage his _artificial_ feelings more. Feelings he didn't even have time to understand. She relaxed into him and wrapped her own arms around his waist.

She pressed her face into his shoulder and squeezed tight. "Whatever conflicts we have, however you still feel about the Brotherhood…" She sighed. "I want this to work."

"I know, I know," Danse murmured into her hair. Her _red_ hair, and he could feel it between his fingers, and her heartbeat against his chest. "Me too."

He pulled back to look at her, his hand sliding down to her neck. "I'm sorry about Shaun."

Addison smiled slightly. "Thank you. I—I love him, even though I didn't raise him. He's still my son, Nate's son."

"You found him," Danse said. "Just like you said you would. I know he's proud of you."

Her eyes crinkled at the edges as her smiled widened. "You know, that was pretty comforting."

"I may be getting in some practice spending so much time around you," he admitted. "Decent for a synth, I guess."

Her smile faded, and she cupped his face in her hands. "Danse, the fact that you're a synth doesn't matter. I still see you as exactly the way you were. And I-," She shifted her weight between her feet. "I really liked you. _Still_ like you a whole lot."

Danse's throat tightened—he _once_ thought he reciprocated Addison's feelings, but how was he supposed to know anymore? Could synths even feel something like that?

"I…I don't know who I am anymore, Addison," he said.

"You're the same as you always were," she whispered.

Danse pursed his lips. "I was a Brotherhood soldier before."

Her hands moved to his chest. "If a Brotherhood soldier is _all_ you were, then I wouldn't have feelings for you. That's not what I like about you. It was my least favorite thing about you."

He cleared his throat. "Feelings?"

Addison's fingers slid down his shirt a few more inches and her eyes dropped. "I'm sorry. I don't want to complicate things."

"Bit late for that," he remarked with a small smile.

"I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I-,"

"No, no," Danse interjected. "I didn't mean _you_ had. I just meant—everything that's happened has made it difficult for me to…make sense of it all."

"I know," she said, and then she leaned close enough that he could see each of the freckles on her nose.

Danse couldn't remember ever being that close to her. It was…kind of nice, actually, that he didn't have to worry about decorum, or whether it was appropriate that he was so tangled up with someone else in the Brotherhood. Because _he_ wasn't in the Brotherhood anymore.

He ran his hand up her back, wrinkling the fabric of her shirt. He tried not to think about what he always thought about—the fact that the tingling up his spine or the warmth in his fingers was only a product of programming. And maybe Addison deserved more than that.

Addison's face was a tanner the longer she'd been in the Commonwealth, but he could still see a blush rising to her cheeks.

"Danse-," She swallowed, then pursed her lips—though he was probably paying too much attention to them.

Her brow puckered in a little wrinkle, concern briefly flashing across her face. Probably concern that she was moving too fast, or that he didn't want to be this close. But he _did_ want to be this close. Maybe.

Danse leaned closer, and though he was a synth, he felt her breath on his face and her fingers under his collar and then along his neck.

He heard the door fly open, but he didn't move, though Addison did, jerking back and peering around his shoulder.

"P- _Piper_!" she said sharply.

Piper stopped at the threshold. "Hey, Blue, sorry to-," She gestured vaguely. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm loving this, but-,"

"God, why are you here, Piper?" Addison asked exasperatedly.

She gestured back to the yard. "Thought you might want to know that a Vertibird landed about a stone's throw away from here. It looks like whoever was in it is coming this way."

Danse froze, heart trapped and beating rapidly in his chest. Addison snatched her pistol from the counter and stepped past him.

"Don't leave the house, Danse."

"Wha— _Addison_ ," he said, grabbing her wrist just as she left his side. She was moving quickly enough that she staggered back once he had a hold of her.

She stepped closer and looked up at him. "They'll kill you if they see you."

He sharply shook his head—he was not the kind of man that _didn't leave the house_. He didn't stay behind while _Addison_ ran out into danger, trying to protect him.

"But-,"

Addison sighed. "I know this is hard, Danse. I know. I can't even imagine, but-," She put her hand on his chest. "You _need_ to stay here, and you need to trust me."

Danse met her gaze—and saw determination in her eyes. No more meekness, or fear, or uncertainty. Just her pistol at her side and a tight set to her jaw. He might be a bit scared of her, if she set that same steely gaze on her enemies.

"Okay," Danse said. "Okay. I trust you."

Addison dropped her hand and gave him a curt nod. "It'll be fine, Danse. I'll be back soon."

She disappeared from the house, waving Piper along with her, and Danse was left. _Alone_. Like some child to be protected.

He crossed his arms over his chest and let out a low growl. _God_ , this was terrible. This was _not_ who he was. He wasn't mean to wait. He was meant to fight. _Shoot_.

Danse paced through the living room, glancing out the window each time he passed with a deeper and deeper scowl. The street was empty, and eventually he flopped down on the couch.

He heard footsteps outside the door and stood—it opened faster than he expected, and a blur of green rushed across the living room to him.

Danse tensed, especially when a pair of arms flung around him, the rim of a hat jutting up against his chin. He looked down.

" _Haylen_?" he began incredulously.

She pushed back from him, beaming. "Sir—it's _so_ good to see you. I know your message said I shouldn't come find you, but I couldn't-," She gestured up and down. "I had to see for myself."

"It's—it's good to see you too," Danse said.

"So, how are you?" Haylen asked with a smile.

Danse cleared his throat and put his hands on his hips. "I'm alright, you know. Just…trying to adjust."

"Yeah," Haylen said, head dropping. "Yeah. I-I can't imagine."

He scratched the back of his head. "I'll figure it out eventually. You have no cause to worry."

Haylen crossed her arms over her bulky vest. "It was hard not to be worried, sir. I thought…" She sighed. "I thought _you_ might follow Maxson's orders if Addison wouldn't."

Danse lowered his gaze—he hated the twinge of guilt that shot through him. "I-I considered it," he admitted. "I really did. I thought it would be honorable."

Haylen rested her hand against the counter. "I'm glad you didn't."

He grunted. Now that Haylen was not a part of his team, he could theoretically talk to her about his emotions, but that didn't mean he _wanted_ to.

"Yeah," he replied noncommittally.

Haylen was not deterred and hoisted her bag onto the counter. "I got you something," she remarked. She zipped open the largest compartment and began rifling through it, before she pulled out a box of Fancy Lads.

"Figured this was better than your dumb old Brotherhood weapons," she said as she handed them over.

Danse accepted them and circled the island to a cabinet. "These things have made up far too much of my diet lately."

He opened the drawer and stacked the cakes on top of about five other ones. He turned and gave a sheepish shrug. "Addison has been collecting them for me," he said. "Trying to make me feel better."

Haylen smiled broadly. "Well lucky for me, I brought you something _else_."

"That's not nec-,"

She pulled a—a _hat_ out of her bag, beaming larger than ever. A type that he recognized from his pre-war reading. A ratty old cowboy hat.

"I know you like bluegrass, and _this_ is what bluegrass singers wear. I thought you could try it on, you know, as a disguise."

Danse shook his head. "It's not much of a disguise if I will draw _more_ attention to myself."

Haylen paraded over to him. "Oh, come on! It'll go great with your flannel." She pushed it into his chest. "Addison will like it."

"Why would that matter?" he asked, looking down at the giant cavity in the hat. _Cowboy_ hat, specifically. Not that those types of people were around anymore.

Haylen scratched the back of her head. "I don't know if you're aware, Danse, but _Addison_ , as you call her now, didn't get you all those cakes _just_ because she wants you to feel better."

"Do you need a reminder that I'm a _synth_?" he asked incredulously.

"You're still _Danse_ ," Haylen replied.

He sighed. "What if that isn't good enough?" he asked. "What if I don't think it's right to be with someone when _every_ time I feel any type of emotion, I second-guess it?"

Danse clenched his fist—that was _entirely_ too much disclosure on his part. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say all that."

Haylen grinned. "You may not be in your armor anymore, but you're still as stoic as ever."

Danse wanted to change the subject. Immediately. He ran his hand through his hair. "You won't give up, will you? On the Brotherhood?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He let his hand flop to his side. "I know that Maxson's orders were disheartening-,"

"Not disheartening," Haylen interjected. "Disgusting."

Danse held out his hand. "My point _is_ that you can't give up on Maxson. Or abandon the Brotherhood. What they're doing is _good_. And you're good at it."

Haylen looked down, and he feared the worst. She finally gave a resigned sigh. "I'm Brotherhood, Danse. Okay?" she said. "For the long run."

"Thank you," Danse said. "That means a lot to me."

Haylen's brow lowered, eyes searching his, but she made no comment. She probably wanted to say what Addison always did—expressing disbelief about how he could _still_ be loyal to the Brotherhood after everything that happened.

She tightened the straps of her bags over her shoulders. "You've got a lot in your life right now, Danse. Other than the Brotherhood."

He did not have a lot in his life right now. He sat in a house. He could go outside in _disguise_. That wasn't a lot.

"Thank you for trying to make me feel better," Danse remarked because it was too exhausting to keep pointing that out.

"You're welcome," Haylen said. "You know I'll see you around. As much as I can."

Danse shook his head. "I don't want to put you in danger, Haylen."

She playfully smacked his arm. "Hey, why don't you let me take care of myself, alright? Just like you taught me."

He smiled slightly, relenting. "Alright."

The door opened at the front of the house, and Addison appeared. "Hey, if you two want something to eat, we've got leftovers."

She stopped and her eyes widened slightly with a mischievous smile. "What is that?" she asked with a laugh. She was pointing to the hat he'd tried to hide on the counter.

"It's Danse's," Haylen said brightly.

"No-,"

"Do you like it?" she finished.

Addison walked over to him and picked up the hat by the top. "Oh, it's wonderful," she said, and Danse rolled his eyes. "He'll be a regular Commonwealth cowboy. Like on his radio playlist."

"Don't be ridiculous," he muttered.

She was beaming. "Oh, come on, you won't even try it on for us?"

He crossed his arms. "Not on your life."

"We'll see about that," she said. "I can be pretty persuasive."

Danse just grunted, while Addison put the hat back down. "You two want some food?"

"That's sweet of you," Haylen said, "but I've got to get going. I actually came here on a mission that I need to finish."

"A mission?" Danse began.

She hesitated, then turned to Addison. "Yeah. Maxson asked me to find _you_. Says he needs to speak with you."

Addison's brow rose. "Oh. I-," She ran her hand through her hair. "I guess I can come with you now."

"What is this about?" Danse asked. He admittedly fear for Addison, but he also…missed being on top of Brotherhood business. Now he had no source for intel.

Haylen shook her head. "Maxson didn't say."

Addison sighed. "Maxson certainly wasn't happy when he left Listening Point Bravo."

"You have to go," Danse interjected.

"I will," she replied gently. "And then I'll be back. Quickly."

He was worried. He _hated_ that he was worried. How fiercely he switched between his strong attachment and his concern about her lies.

"Be careful," he remarked gruffly, then he gave her shoulder an awkward pat.

Addison squeezed his hand in return, and then walked over to the couch to grab her pack. "You ready?" she said to Haylen.

Haylen nodded and then rushed forward to hug him tight again. "It was _so_ good to see you, Danse."

He patted her back. "It was good to see you, too. Really."

"I'll come back soon, I swear," she said, untangling from him.

Haylen and Addison disappeared through his front door with another wave, and for the second time that day the anger swelled in his chest—or maybe it was jealously. There they were, leaving for the Prydwen, to see Maxson, to be a part of the team, while he stayed hidden again. God, it was humiliating.

He knew his anger was no use to him, but still coursed through his veins. It would cause him to lash out, if he let it fester. Lash out at the people he cared about the most. The ones he had left.

Addison asked Piper to accompany her to the Prydwen—she might have asked Nick, or Hancock, but she knew they would not be welcome there. And Robert certainly couldn't be trusted to keep his opinions to himself. Or his rifle, probably.

Haylen led them both to the Vertibird far outside Sanctuary, and they lifted off towards the city, to whatever Maxson had planned for Addison. It couldn't be anything good.

Addison was quiet on the ride, staring down at the landscape rushing past them. She felt Piper bump shoulders with her.

"What was up with you and Danse?" she began. "At the house?"

Addison peered over her shoulder. "Nothing. We were talking."

Piper's brow rose. "Is he hard of hearing? You were awfully… _close_."

She reddened, and her eyes darted over to Haylen, who was trying hard to suppress a smile. "Now's not the time, Piper."

Haylen waved her hand. "Oh, don't mind me," she said as she shifted in her seat across from them. "I have no comment about the fact that Danse is crazy about you."

Piper made a triumphant sound. "See!"

Addison shook her head. "That isn't what this is about."

"Oh so what is it about?" Piper asked.

She turned to face her with an incredulous look. "Danse, he—his world has been turned upside down. He _hated_ synths and now he is one. He only cared about the Brotherhood, and they abandoned him."

"But he has _you_ ," Piper insisted.

"That's the point," Addison said. "He has _only_ me. And…and-," She sighed and fell back against the seat. "Things are too complicated now to make them _more_ complicated. Something could come between us, or he could change his mind about what he really wants. That's just not a risk to take right now."

Piper sighed. "That's not a good reason, Blue, and you know it."

"I happen to think-,"

Haylen nodded. "She's right. This is the Commonwealth. We don't live long here. You need to take what happiness you can and never let go of it."

Addison crossed her arms over her chest and peered out of the Vertibird. "Oh, look. We're near the Boston Airport."

"Smooth," Piper remarked with a snort.

They docked at the Prydwen without further conversation, which Addison was glad of. She did firmly believe in her conviction not to push Danse. Even when he looked like he _wanted_ to kiss her, all he said was that he was confused, uncertain—not exactly glowing praise of any sort of relationship.

The three of them unloaded from the Vertibird as soon as it docked, and Addison hurried down the narrow metal platform—she hated that Initiates still passed her, murmuring comments about Danse. As soon as she and Piper entered the Command Deck, Lancer Captain Kells spotted them. He gestured sharply to her, and Addison asked Piper to wait while she headed down to him.

"Paladin," he began. "It's good you're here. I'm the one who asked Maxson to call for you."

"I came as soon as I could," she said.

He nodded once. "Well now that this unfortunate matter with Danse has been settled, we can return to our wartime preparations."

Danse was merely an _unfortunate matter_ , and she pursed her lips tight. Whatever Kells—and ostensibly Maxson—wanted, she probably didn't want to do it.

"What do you need?" she asked, smiling, because it was her instinct.

Kells folded his hands together in front of his neatly pressed uniform. "Before we begin our attack on the Institute, we need to address another threat," he said. "The Railroad."

Her smile did in fact fade, turning into a tight clench of her jaw. As if she didn't have enough problems.

"I was under the impression that they were a very small group," she remarked. "Sir."

He furrowed his brow. "They might be small, but our tactical analysis shows they could hamper, even harm, our operations, which is a risk I'm not willing to take. If we strike them now, we should be able to maximize the damage we do to their organization."

Addison rubbed her neck. "I don't see how they are that large of a problem."

"They are a constant threat to our operations, Paladin," Kells insisted. "They've already proven resilient against superior forces with a knack for disappearing when cornered. If we intend to end the synth menace, we need to plug the leaks."

Her heart was beating faster in her chest, blood rushing to her face, and she worried that Kells could see right through her.

"How does Maxson want to do that?" she asked.

Kells reached for a folder near his console. "Destroying the Railroad hinges on completely eliminating their leadership, otherwise they'll simply re-group somewhere else," he said, then handed her the papers. "Here's a list of five targets we believe would cause a catastrophic failure in their chain of command."

Addison accepted the list quickly, afraid if her hand was visible for too long, he would see it shaking. She flipped open the folder and sharply exhaled. Carrington. Glory. Tinker Tom. Dez. _Deacon_.

She closed it abruptly. All she wanted to do was run and deny this reality. The Brotherhood was asking her to obliterate an organization that stood for what she really believed in.

The truth was—and it made her really sick to her stomach—there was too much at stake for her to refuse this. If she refused to follow orders, then Kells would just send someone _else_ to hurt her friends. In the face of her insubordination, Maxson would have no reason to continue to allow Danse to live.

"You'll be leading the charge," Kells remarked, "but we'll provide you with an assault team to give you all the firepower you need."

She cleared her throat. "You mean they won't attack until I say?"

"Yes," he said, frowning. "Though I would like to remind you that this mission should be your top priority."

Addison nodded. "I understand."

She brought the file closer to her chest, against her frantically beating heart, and clopped back up the metal stairs to the Command Deck. As she reached the top, she heard heavy boots behind her and turned.

Maxson had been waiting for her, trying to look intimidating, and she grimaced.

He took a step back into his personal space on the Command Deck, gesturing her to him with a nod. "Paladin."

She was _not_ in the mood to talk to him—not that she ever was. "Excuse me, Maxson, but I'm quite busy."

He crossed his arms, unmoving. "You have time to speak to your commanding officer."

Addison pursed her lips tightly, trying to trap the impatient sigh that threatened to escape. She stepped over the threshold to him. "Is this about my new mission? I've got enough to do already, you know."

"Your new role as Paladin requires a _prioritization_ of your assignments," Maxson said tartly. "Most important is neutralizing the threats facing the Brotherhood."

"The Railroad is hardly a threat," Addison said.

"Oh, and you would know that?" Maxson snapped. "Because you're so familiar with how they operate?"

He was acting suspicious of her, though she didn't blame him.

"It's a well-known fact," she said simply.

He stepped closer to her, scowling. "It is _also_ a well-known fact that I am the leader of the Brotherhood, and when I give you an order, I expect you to follow it."

Addison clenched her jaw hard. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Excuse me for doubting your ability to do what I ask," Maxson said. "Considering your last abysmal attempt."

She was surprised he'd even allude to _that_ here on the ship. God, she was so tired of being pushed around by him. Some stupid little _twerp_ with such a fragile ego he couldn't just leave Danse alone.

Addison leaned closer. "What happened to the Brotherhood's honor?" she whispered angrily. "You promised you'd leave him alone."

"The Brotherhood's _honor_ was compromised because of you," he hissed back. "You stuck your pathetic synth-loving nose into _my_ plan in order to save someone I should have exterminated when I had the chance."

"Well, you didn't," she said. "You had a _brief_ flash of goodness, and I took advantage of it." She paused as a soldier passed by the door, glaring. "And now you're stuck with me because everybody here thinks I did what you wanted like some big hero."

Maxson looked _mad_ —nostrils flared, and the leather of his gloves crinkled as he clenched his fists tight. "And don't think for a second I haven't been planning to get you out of here since I stepped foot back on the Prydwen," he growled.

"Why did you bother promoting me to Paladin, then?" she demanded.

"Because I had to," he snapped back. "And then I decided I would wait. I figured it was only a matter of time before you refused to follow orders again."

Addison frowned. "You know there's no reason for me to exterminate the Railroad. A small group that isn't keeping you from destroying the Institute."

Maxson leaned closer. "Consider it this way, Paladin. If you don't follow my orders, I know _exactly_ where to find Danse, and I will not hesitate to drop a Mark-28 on that run-down little settlement of yours. Since you so kindly found them for me."

Addison's throat tightened, and she broke from his gaze. Maxson had given a long, surly speech that essentially amounted to _checkmate_. If she refused to help with the raid on the Railroad, Maxson had reason to send her packing. Or kill her. If she _did_ help, then the Railroad was one less thing to worry about, and her treacherous activities, which Maxson likely suspected, were also done with.

Maxson's expression turned smug because her silence. "I'm glad you've seen my side of things." He shrugged. "Or maybe you haven't, and I can finally get you off my ship."

Addison was clenching her own fist now, and instead of responding—because she wanted to _shout_ —she turned for the door. Maxson headed deeper into his own office—he spoke in his full voice as he left.

"I look forward to hearing your report, carrot-top."

Addison cringed and marched straight through the door onto the Flight Deck, gesturing sharply towards Piper, so she'd follow. Piper nodded vigorously and hurried after her.

The door slammed behind them, and Addison marched down the walkway.

"Are you okay?" Piper whispered hoarsely. "That looked—er, intense."

Addison ground her teeth together. "Yeah, well, I'm-,"

A woman in power armor stopped in front of them, blocking their way.

"Howard, haven't seen you around."

Addison looked up, spotting Ingram. She tried to collect all the emotions that had spilled out of her, plaster on that trembling smile that she'd worn too much lately.

"Yeah—yes," she said, clearing her throat. "How are you?"

Ingram furrowed her brow, then shook her head. "Right. Forgot you ask people about their feelings," she said. "I'm fine. Ready to get Liberty Prime up and running."

"What's missing?" Addison asked, peering over the railing far below them. Even this far up, she could see Liberty Prime's massive frame looming over the airport.

"We've been running Prime off the Prydwen's engines, but there isn't nearly enough juice to start the cold fusion reactor," Ingram explained.

Addison was still looking over the railing. "You need beryllium," she said absently.

Ingram paused. "Er—yeah, actually," she said. "I forgot you aren't an idiot. I was hoping for your help with that."

Addison straightened. "You know Maxson just gave me orders."

Ingram huffed. "Yeah, but excuse me for prioritizing getting Liberty Prime in working condition ahead of—wiping out some piddly little group of synth-lovers."

"I'd…have to agree with you on that," Addison admitted, though for entirely different reasons. "Do you know where to get what you need?"

"Yeah," Ingram said. "Are you familiar with Mass Fusion?"

Addison nodded, but her stomach had dropped like a rock. More dread to accompany how sick she already felt. Shaun had asked her to get the beryllium agitator from the Mass Fusion Building for _his_ reactor. Phase Three.

"Yeah," she said. "They were a utility company, housed in the most ostentatious building in Boston. I was an intern for them in college."

Ingram's brow rose—Addison didn't know if she was impressed or surprised.

"Well, apparently their CEO was working on this beryllium agitator in their high-rise in the Financial District."

Addison crossed her arms and looked down. Sometimes she hated how guilty she acted all the time. "You'd better hope it's still there 200 years later."

Ingram shrugged. "We won't know till we visit."

"We?" Addison said incredulously.

"Yeah, I'm coming with you," she replied, a determined set in her jaw.

Addison looked back at the door. "Does Maxson approve of this?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Let's just keep that between us."

Addison had plenty of things she was keeping from Maxson. This would simply be another thing to add to the list.

"I'd be happy to have you along," she said brightly.

Ingram nodded curtly. "Kells has arranged for a Vertibird to take us to the Mass Fusion building. Let me know when you're ready."

Addison's pulse trilled because diving head first into _that_ mission was not her primary concern at the moment. The Railroad needed saving. Or killing. She didn't know which.

"Right, yes—I…" She gestured vaguely back. "With my other missions, I-I need to…" She cleared her throat. "I'll keep you posted."

Ingram frowned. "Hurry, Howard," she said. "If the Institute finds out the agitator is there, they will do anything they can to keep it out of our hands."

"You're…probably right about that," Addison replied, and the irony of the situation probably could have killed her. She looked behind her at Piper. "You ready?"

Piper gave her an odd look, but nodded. "Let's get out of here."

Addison slipped past Ingram. "I'll see you soon."

"You'd better," Ingram grumbled, and then she marched the rest of the way down the Flight Deck.

Addison scurried into the nearest Vertibird with Piper at her heels. She ordered the pilot to set them down only a few miles from the Boston Airport, and as they dismounted, Addison held tight to her seat. She could feel the blood pumping in her face, heard it in her ears, drowning out the loud whirring from the engines.

Maxson's bluntness was not surprising—he was a good leader, but young, and maybe brash. Rather than being proud he spared his friend Danse, he was probably deeply embarrassed that he'd shown such mercy. Or been persuaded by Addison to do it. She looked weak to him, to the others in the Brotherhood. Maxson would despise the notion that _she_ was pushing him around.

The Vertibird landed on an empty patch of dead grass, and Addison hopped out over Piper's protests. She waved the pilot away as she put her hands on her hips, trying to breathe.

Piper watched the Vertibird lift back off the ground, the wind forcing her to clap her hand over her head to keep her hat on. Once the noise was no longer deafening, she looked over.

"So, this is a lovely field, Blue, but-," She shook her head. "What the hell is going on?"

Addison didn't answer, just pursed her lips to one side of her face.

Piper snapped her fingers. "Oh, I get it, you've finally snapped. The whole nice-suburban mom thing has worn you out, and you're gonna, like, kill me or something."

She let her hands flop to her side. "Piper, it's over. This whole—this whole thing is fucking _over_."

Piper's brow rose, probably at her uncharacteristically vulgar language. "What happened on the Prydwen?"

Addison ran her hand through her hair. "They want me to take out the Railroad. Kill them all. Including Deacon."

"Why _you_?" Piper asked incredulously.

She began pacing, nose crinkled in frustration. "I should have _never_ believed that Maxson was okay with Danse being alive. With me staying with the Brotherhood." She sighed. "Maxson wants me out, but he needs a reason for it."

Piper adjusted her hat after it had been blown askew. "And you refusing to kill the Railroad-,"

"Is a damn good reason to call me a traitor," Addison muttered. "He—I don't know _how_ , but he already suspects me of colluding with the Railroad anyway. His suspicions were probably confirmed once I stood up for Danse."

Piper shrugged. "So what's the big deal?" she asked. "Refuse to kill the Railroad, and you get to leave."

Addison shook her head. "Maxson isn't keeping Danse alive out of the kindness of his heart, you know. I convinced him he needed me. But once they get the beryllium agitator, Prime is ready to go, and I'm useless." She threw her hand up. "Danse running around the Commonwealth is a liability to Maxson. It makes him look weak. He's better off killing us both."

Piper rustled through her pocket, pulling out a cigarette. "So…you're going to kill the Railroad, then?"

Addison stopped. "No," she said reflexively. "I couldn't possibly…" Her words devolved into a frustrated sound.

Piper had put her cigarette between her lips. She opened one side of her mouth to speak and pulled out her lighter.

"I see why you're fucked now."

Addison swallowed. "And as if that weren't enough, my son and Maxson are now after the same technology. They can't both have it, which means that in addition to burning my bridge with the Railroad, I'll be forever separating myself from my dying son by helping the Brotherhood."

Piper blew out a puff of smoke. "Not to be difficult, but I warned you this was coming."

Addison raised her hand sharply. "My membership in the Brotherhood was never meant to be conditioned upon Danse's _life_."

"But it is," Piper pointed out. "Does that mean you're you staying with them?"

"What—and let Maxson destroy the Railroad?" she began incredulously. "I can't—God, they're the only people in this place I actually _agree_ with. In principle, at least."

" _So_ you're going to refuse to follow orders and leave the Brotherhood?"

Addison frowned. "I can't let Danse die on my watch."

Piper shook her head, finishing her cigarette in one long drag. "Blue, that's it. End of the road. You've got Door 1-," She raised one hand. "-and Door 2." She raised the other. "There is no magical door 3 where your crazy ass tries to kill a Courser by yourself."

Addison clenched her jaw. "You don't know that."

Her arms dropped. "I do know that."

Addison's eyes welled up, an emotion other than panic and frustration finally hitting her. "Piper, I _can't_. I couldn't-," She rubbed her nose. "Those are my friends, and Danse is…"

She sighed. "Listen, if I knew what to do, I'd tell you."

Addison pressed her fingers against her temple, eyes squeezed tightly shut and head tilted down. There was no way that she'd done this to the people she was supposed to care about.

"Blue-,"

"What if I convinced Maxson to spare the Railroad?" she said.

Piper furrowed her brow. "How the hell would you convince him of that? You have no leverage."

Addison's fingers slid down her face. "That's true," she muttered. "I don't have leverage." Her brow wrinkled deeply in thought. "But what if-,"

Piper stepped back. "Oh, no. No, no," she said. "I am not about to agree to another one of your crazy—no, _stupid_ —plans that will ultimately get you killed. Last time that happened, Danse looked ready to tear my head off."

"I do not have a plan," Addison replied. She had a half-plan. A quarter-plan. Maybe just a gut instinct and an intense feeling of desperation. Danse would be furious—everyone, really. But she _would not_ choose between exterminating her friends, her _beliefs_ , and letting Danse die. It couldn't come to that.

Piper snorted. "Oh, and do you need my help with this _not_ plan?"

"If you want," Addison said. "I have to go now. I don't have much time."

Her eyes widened in alarm. "But what about Maxson? The Railroad?"

"That's all a part of the plan," Addison said. "The _not_ plan."

Piper gave a heavy exhale and scrubbed her brow. "Alright, Blue. Where the hell are we going?"

Addison looked at the mangled skyline of Boston beside them.

"Mass Fusion."


End file.
